Fire Emblem: Holy Crusade
by Lacunose
Summary: Four years have passed since the War of the Stones ended. However, a dark power threatens the continent once more. But Magvel stands divided by poverty, pride, greed and suspicion. Can one mage unite the nations and finally bring true peace to their home?
1. I : In the Morning Sun

**-0-**

* * *

**.:| F I R E _ E M B L E M |:.**

***~. **_H O L Y _ C R U S A D E__** .**_**~***

* * *

by **Lacunose**

(C) FE8 and all associated characters, objects, names and locations

copyright to Intelligence Systems and Nintendo

All original characters and storyline copyright to Lacunose, 2011

It's been a while since I've had any sort of contact with fanfiction, and my writing has gathered up dust and rust in a dark corner somewhere. So to celebrate my glorious and ephemeral return to this world, I decided to go head first into the deep end and go for that Sacred Stones epic which I've been planning for quite a while now! Yes, my very first Fire Emblem fanfiction, and it's totally chock full of OCs, some NPCs that were mentioned but never used, as well as a quite a few familiar faces.

Anyway, like I said, due to lack of use, my writing skills may come across as sort of rusty to downright illegible, but I beg your indulgence and your reviews

Now, on to the rest of the story!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fire Emblem, nor any of the characters imported from it. But the OCs and whatever originality the plot contains are mine. Duh.

**Summary:** Four years have passed since the War of the Stones came to its conclusion. However, a dark power grows in the west – can the nations of Magvel come together a second time to bring peace to their home once and for all?

**Universe: **Post-game

**Status:** Ongoing

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

_**–**_ _**Before the Storm –**_

* * *

It is the year 807. Four years have passed since the War of the Stones was brought to a close at Darkling Woods. Grado, once the most powerful nation on Magvel, has been struck by a catastrophic landslide, wiping the map clean of almost half its land mass and claiming countless lives. While Grado was to be placed under the protection of Renais, the burdens it placed on the still recovering nation was impossible to bear, and thus stewardship of Grado was passed to Renais' ally, Frelia, and her monarch Hayden, the Sage King. General Duessel, known as the Obsidian and formerly one of Grado's Imperial Three, heads the reconstruction effort. Meanwhile, King Ephraim of Renais often rides throughout the continent in order to oversee the reconstruction of other countries as well as his own. Jehanna thrives under the reign of Joshua, the Tempest King, and his queen, Natasha, as does Rausten under the continued wise rule of Mansel, the Divine Emperor. Slowly but surely, peace is beginning to return to Magvel.

However, underneath the apparent calm, stirrings of unrest begin to rise into view. The Frelian governors who have been sent to Grado to aid its reconstruction have not been entirely co-operative. With Grado being rebuilt as a port nation, its growing potential for trade has incited the greed within its foreign administrators. With many trading the well-being of the Grado people for personal gain, the citizens have come to depend on a group of freedom fighters known as the Scarlet Wings to defend them from bandits and distribute retrieved supplies among them. They are pursued by the Frelian governors and their troops, and the influence of the corrupt foreign politicians in Grado leave Duessel with little opportunity to help them.

Meanwhile, the reconstruction of Renais is proceeding slowly, but the constant absences of King Ephraim make the citizens restless – it is only through the continued service of General Seth and his knights keeping the bandits at bay that prevent public disquiet from becoming too outspoken. Princess Eirika works tirelessly for her people, but her concerns, torn between her own nation and the promise she made to her deceased friend Prince Lyon of Grado to protect his country in his stead, are taking its toll on the progress of her work. To augment her troubles, word has come from Rausten that there is dissent among the nobles over the matter of the succession of Princess L'Arachel as the next Queen, and from King Joshua of Jehanna that Natasha, his wife, has been struck with an unfathomable illness and is bedridden. Yet, despite her ardent wish to aid them, there is nothing she can do.

Amidst the impending conflicts, a young court mage of Jehanna meditates peacefully upon the high peaks that surround the isolated mountain village of Caer Pelyn...

* * *

**CHAPTER I**

_**–**_ _**In the Morning Sun –**_

* * *

The air was still cool when the sun had risen fully over the horizon. The peaks of Caer Pelyn basked in the gentle warmth of the breaking sunlight, the grass rippling softly in the wind as if stretching out contentedly in preparation for the start of the day. A slight figure was perched on one of the rocks scattered around the stony cliffs, his eyes closed peacefully as he let his awareness extend throughout the mountainous plains that surrounded him. Every wild flower, each nook and cranny carved by the ages into the rock faces, every single blade of grass that had its own sway, its own dance – the sound of nature itself waking to a new, unmarked beginning. A gentle gust rustled through his hair and he smiled contentedly as he allowed the freshness of the early morning breeze to seep into his consciousness.

_Zzzzz... ..._

His mauve-coloured locks flopped over his face as his head drooped onto his chest and his body began to slump out of its meditative position, the hours of sleep he had missed the night before finally catching up to him. Slowly but surely, he began to tilt to the side, and the unconscious movement (unconscious being the most important word here) continued until his head rested on the edge of the rock he was sitting on, his body in an impossibly arched position – yet he went on to snore softly away from consciousness, all thoughts of awareness of nature slipping quickly into a half-made dream woven to accommodate his rapid descent into oblivion. A blissfully ignorant smile began to spread across his features as the next process of his slumber commenced – namely, drooling copiously onto whatever his head happened to be lying on.

However, before the chronology of his sleep patterns could progress any further, an incisive, jarring sound of screaming steel stabbed into his ears, and he jerked involuntarily at the sudden attack on his hearing. As his senses attempted to readjust themselves to reality, he lost whatever precarious balance he had in his surreal sleeping position and fell – utterly gracelessly – off the rock. As he blinked up into the now sharp sunlight stinging his eyes, he caught sight of the sun flashing off his attacker's crimson hair, and he groaned briefly as he allowed his head to drop back into the grass.

'Hi, Marisa,' he greeted her half-heartedly. 'I was thinking I hadn't seen you in a while.'

The figure that stood before him (correction, over him, and rather threateningly at that) was an imposing young woman of graceful build, dressed in a simple swordswoman's purple one-piece that stopped just below her upper thighs, with an opaque, silken shawl wrapped around her midriff. With her stunning features, sharp crimson eyes and an evocative outfit that laid plenty enough of her skin on display – porcelain white despite the unbearably hot climate of the Jehannan desert – it was a wonder she didn't have more men chasing after her. But then again, he knew all he had to do was add her sword to the equation (which, he figured, had recently been slapped against the edge of a rock he had known well prior to his fall), and he would have his answer as to why people avoided Marisa more often than not. As well as why she wasn't precisely his favourite person to see in the mornings.

'The Elder wants to see you,' she said drily, her expression unreadable. 'Hurry up.'

The reproached boy at first did not move, desperately attempting to somehow return to the slumber from which he had been so brutally awakened. But upon realising that Marisa would probably not wait for him, he sighed and stood up, brushing stray grass and dust off his simple dark green robes as he did so. Readjusting his headband so that his hair stopped falling over his maroon-coloured eyes, he tried to blink the last remnants of drowsiness from his sleep-ridden eyes.

_Ugh... hate mornings. I wish mornings could be optional._

He looked over at Marisa, who had, sure enough, already begun to walk briskly towards the village. He stumbled in her wake, almost tripping over his robes and his own drowsiness, calling after her, 'H-hey! Wait! Marisa!'

Marisa stopped, and turned to look at him. 'What?' she asked.

'Couldn't you wait up a little? I mean, it's not like we're in a hurry or anything –'

'But we don't have any reason to waste time either,' she said pointedly. 'And the Elder is waiting.'

'Come on,' he said as he caught up to her. 'Two friends, long time no see, plenty to talk about – there's no need to be so stand-offish, right?'

'I've been working,' said Marisa shortly. 'Is there anything else to talk about?'

_Oh man, haven't those bandits and armies been good enough for you? _he thought mournfully._ Do you have to be so cruel as to excel in killing _conversations_ as well?_

For the sake of the swiftly failing verbal exchange, he braved continuing their dialogue, 'Er... a little more elaboration on your part? Like umm... you know, where you've been, what jobs you've had... who you've killed lately, all that... everyday sort of stuff.'

'I don't get it,' she said simply. 'Are you intent on wasting my time?'

'Ouch,' he winced. _Okay, rest in peace, small talk. We had a good run._

He gave a sigh as she continued to walk away from their effectively concluded conversation. 'Touché. Er... cool. Great chat. Mm. Boy, I'd forgotten how cutting Marisa can be – with or without that blade of hers.'

He saw Marisa pause again, and he momentarily froze in fear as he wondered if she'd heard him. But after a moment of silence, she spoke up.

'Len,' she said.

'Er... yeah?'

'I'm waiting up,' she said curtly, a hint of impatience slotted dangerously into her voice.

The mage Len almost paused to wonder if she was joking, but he knew Marisa too well to know when she was pulling his leg – which was, unless she was literally pulling his leg off the rest of his body, basically never. Ever. So he made the prudent decision to quicken his pace as they headed to the village Caer Pelyn.

***~-0-~***

Caer Pelyn was not usually a place which 'bustled' with activity, as bustling indicated stress and worry – qualities which Len had been quick to discover the villagers had abandoned over their years of serenity and necessity through their day-to-day routines up in their quiet mountain village. Nevertheless, smatterings of conversation appeared here and there, and many of the villagers greeted him with a slight inclination of their heads as they walked towards the Elder's house, accompanied by more than one odd look at Marisa, no doubt wondering what calamity had brought the crimson-haired swordmaster into their midst. Len noticed this with only slight amusement, and smiled further at the indifference with which Marisa treated their glances.

'So, Marisa... what brings you here in the first place?' he asked conversationally. 'I mean, don't get me wrong, when Grandmother Dara mentioned that you were coming, I was over the moon, but well, you don't usually come up all the way to Caer Pelyn – '

'I'm here on a job,' came her succinct reply.

Len recovered quickly from being cut off in mid-sentence. But of course. What other reason would bring her to... well, anywhere? 'Okay... so do you know what Grandma Dara wanted? Cos wasn't really very clear the other day – '

'Don't know.'

Len sighed inwardly as Marisa did not pause in her quick-paced strides up the steps.

_It's okay. I mean, we didn't know each other THAT well, and it has been a pretty long time. And this is Marisa we're talking about. Ugh... it's still too early to be putting in so much effort into something like small talk of all things..._

Changing tack, he asked, 'So... how's Gerik and Tethys doing?'

At this, a shift of expression – so fast that had he not been looking closely at her face at that moment he would have missed it – flashed across Marisa's features momentarily, but then was gone, returned to her usual blank expression, but Len detected a barely noticeable awkwardness in her voice as she gave her answer, 'They're fine.'

Len frowned a little at her reaction. Gerik and Tethys were two of her comrades from the mercenary guild, led by the former. The last time he had heard, Gerik had been appointed the royal guildmaster of Jehanna, effectively putting him in charge of a sizeable majority of Jehanna's military might, and Tethys had been the same as always – still dancing on many stages and breaking even more hearts in the process. _Wonder if something's happened... an internal something or other within the guild, maybe?_ he pondered.

Deciding that this was, for some reason, not the best of subjects for conversations with Marisa, he maintained their silence as they continued up the streets and steps up to the Elder's house near the top of Caer Pelyn, allowing the sounds of the villagers' morning routines to alleviate the awkwardness that hung between the mage and his mercenary companion.

In spite of his aversion to waking at such an early hour, Len loved the village of Caer Pelyn in the morning. It was a time when the tranquil peace of the preceding night remained unbroken even as each villager went about his or her business with purpose, beginning the day with an array of activities that prepared them in their own way for the impending jobs of the coming hours. Three fidgety youngsters were being taught by their grandmother the rites of making and pouring tea, and he noticed with great sympathy that one of them was slightly nodding off. A group of villagers were performing Valega exercises in an open space that served as the square, their slow, graceful movements and regular breathing perfectly reflecting the peace around them. Some mages-in-training, few of whom he recognised, were reading their tomes as they walked to the house of their teacher, some of the less disciplined ones still trying to tie their shoes on properly as they went. Len smiled, remembering himself being similar when he was travelling to his first lesson with one of the senior sages. Near the steps of Grandmother Dara's house, two elders were continuing a board game which they had left the day before. They smiled at him in recognition and he made a brief stop at their side, watching with a little exasperation as he saw Marisa walk on without him out of the corner of his eye.

'Why, if it isn't young Len,' one of the elders said. 'You still owe me that game one of these days.'

'I'll be sure to drop by again once this game's finished,' he promised. 'Maybe you'll beat me this time.'

'Oh, it's still too early for me to accept defeat to you youngsters yet!' he said with a chuckle. 'I'll be sure to win.'

Len glanced over the board, and as he turned to catch up with Marisa, he whispered in the other elder's ear, 'Three paces left from the bottom right-hand corner.'

He gave a smile of satisfaction as he heard his opponent give a baffled splutter halfway up the steps to the Elder's house, where Marisa waited for him (but only very briefly).

Len knocked on the door, to which an answer came from inside the house – 'Come in, Len – the door is not locked.'

'Unlocked,' he corrected her inwardly. _Though then again, I wonder why she said 'not locked' as opposed to 'unlocked'. The word 'unlocked' might suggest that it was previously locked, and that it was actively moved from a state of 'locked' to 'unlocked', indicating a sense of former insecurity and guardedness that was only recently relieved. However, the term 'not locked' hints that the door was never in a state of being 'locked', and this therefore leads one to believe that the person behind this door is one of complete openness and trust, even to things which might threaten his or her safety –_

'Are you going in or not?' Marisa's voice cut through his rambling ruminations and brought him swiftly back to reality. Len coughed embarrassedly and he pushed the door open.

A sigh of contentment could not be resisted as the familiar scent of rich tea, age-matured wood and aromatic mutton stew filled his senses. The low-beamed roof did not detract from the spaciousness of the Elder's home, and only served to add to the homeliness of the inviting house. Upon the wide fireplace, the stew brewed in a pot over a cheerful fire, the smoke and steam curling up to the carvings of men and dragons that adorned the surrounding woodwork. At the table sat an elderly woman in a green hood, welcoming them with a smile – and beside her, Len recognised the face of a young indigo-haired girl sitting with her hands clasped shyly under the table. Her flame-red eyes met his own carnelian gaze and his face broke out into a wide grin.

'Grandmother Dara! Myrrh!' Len greeted them, smiling broadly – with both Myrrh and Dara, he never knew whether he ought to embrace them or bow to them, since the latter appeared to exasperate the Elder and bother Myrrh. As for embracing, he recalled the first time he was introduced to the indigo-haired manakete (_Great Dragon, _he reminded himself), he had ruffled her hair, which made Grandmother Dara have a fit; it had, after all, still only been a few years since Myrrh had decided to move to Caer Pelyn at the request of Dara's grandson, Saleh. He quickly learnt that it was difficult for the villagers to completely get over the reverence of her being the Great Dragon, even though to him, she looked every bit a little girl. Nevertheless, he decided not to be overly-friendly with Myrrh from then on, at least in the Elder's presence.

'Hello, Len,' Myrrh returned his greeting with her usual half-smile.

'You've been practising Valega, I see,' the Elder said as she indicated to the pair to seat themselves in front of the cups of tea prepared for them at the table.

The mage gave a sheepish laugh as he seated himself opposite the Elder. 'Well, haha... of sorts,' he said vaguely. _Dreaming counts as a meditative state after all... I think._

'He was sleeping when I found him,' Marisa said impassively, settling herself into a cross-legged position beside him.

'Marisa...' Len muttered uneasily.

'Just like you said he would be,' she added as she picked up her cup of tea to take a sip.

The mage turned with a scandalized expression at the Elder. 'Grandmother!' he said in an appalled tone.

'It's not like it would be the first time, would it?' Dara reasoned as she picked up her own cup. 'The reason you seem to fail so miserably at Valega is because your sleepiness gets the better of you before you fully allow your awareness to become one with the world. You're a bright lad. It just needs some more focus and discipline, and then you'll get there. Eventually.'

'Yeah, meaning it's gonna take eternity,' Len grumbled as he took a sip of his tea.

'Eventually,' the Elder repeated gently.

They continued to drink the tea in silence, before Dara put down her cup and said, 'Well... I suppose you youngsters are wondering why you were called up here.'

'Yeah, especially so early in the – uh, I mean... yes, of course, Elder,' Len said meekly as he remembered who he was talking to.

'Chief said that this job was something urgent,' Marisa said, referring to her guildmaster.

Dara's usual calm gaze became troubled, and this was an uncommon enough occurrence that Len's brows furrowed into a frown as he put down his tea. 'Yes...' the Elder began slowly, 'Perhaps... it would be best if Lady Myrrh were to explain.'

Myrrh looked at the Elder with an uncertain expression, but then turned to Len and Marisa. She took an uneasy breath before speaking, 'I... not long ago, I sensed a shadow rising in the west.'

The mage's frown grew deeper. 'A shadow?'

'Yes,' she said with a small nod of her head. 'It was very small at first, but it's recently become... bigger. The feeling I got was not unlike the same darkness that... that I felt four years ago.'

There was a moment's silence before Len spoke, 'Er... ehehe... come again? Four years ago – that's the same time as the War of the Stones... but that's impossible. The Demon King was sealed away. The Sacred Stone lies safely in Renais. Only the King knows how to open the vault in which it is kept. So how could –'

'Len!' The Elder's voice was not raised, but her tone was sharp, and Len was struck silent. 'Do not talk to the Great Dragon so,' she said warningly.

'Right. Sorry, Grandmother Dara,' he apologised humbly. 'Sorry, Myrrh.'

'No, no, it's alright,' Myrrh said. 'It's very possible that I could be mistaken – it's much weaker than it was four years ago, after all...'

'Lady Myrrh, it is wrong for you to efface yourself so,' Dara insisted. 'It is only thanks to your efforts throughout the Sacred Stone War that we were able to prevent the full return of the Demon King and the dark ages of old. We cannot ignore the same signs that saved mankind four years ago. If you did indeed sense that selfsame evil, we must act upon it immediately, before it is too late.'

Myrrh nodded, but her eyes lowered very slightly, just enough so that she would not be able to meet the others' gaze. The Elder turned to Len, who unconsciously straightened up in his seat. 'Saleh is currently in Jehanna carrying out studies in the Lagdou Ruins,' she told him. 'You must deliver the message that evil stirs once more in Magvel to him at once, and – should it be required – offer your assistance to Saleh in his mission to investigate the source of this dark energy.'

Len blinked, not quite sure if he was still too sleepy to have heard everything clearly. 'W-what? Me?' he said disbelievingly. 'I'm just an ordinary mage – I'm nothing special. I can't even get Valega right. Surely one of the other sages are way better for this mission than me?'

'On the contrary,' Dara cut in smoothly. 'You are not just any mage – you are a court mage of Jehanna, handpicked from a young age for your magical potential. Your father was one of the generals in the Jehanna army, and so you are able to gain safe haven at the Hall and travel throughout the country without incident. Your skill in magic – though your affinity with Valega is sorely lacking – is more than sufficient for this mission. To compound this, I have requested Marisa here to accompany you. I see no reason why you are not fit for this task.'

At this, Len was left with no more to say – a frequent happening when he attempted to go head to head with the Elder, since her years of experience and wisdom made her an invincible target to all who tried and failed to argue with her. Marisa seemed to get the same impression that the conversation had ended, nodding in the Elder's direction and standing up from her seated position. 'I will go prepare,' she said as she bowed slightly and left.

Len sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling the tiredness of the earlier morning creeping back into his bones. 'I guess I ought to get my things as well,' he said wearily as he stood up and brushed himself down. 'I'll meet you at the gate, Grandmother Dara.'

The Elder nodded back, and moments after he stepped out of the door, it opened again as Myrrh came running out.

'Len!'

'Myrrh?' he said in surprise. 'What is it?'

An anxious expression was spread across her features as she looked up at the mage, her eyes looking as if they were about to burst into tears. 'I... I'm sorry. This is my fault, isn't it?'

Len blinked in confusion. 'Wha? Your fault? No! Of course not!'

He knelt down to her height, and looking around swiftly to check that no-one else was around, he placed a hand on top of her head of indigo hair. 'Don't worry. Grandmother Dara's right, your power was what saved us back then, so no matter how small, we have to check it out now, before it gets any bigger. It's better to be safe than sorry, right? So don't feel bad, we're really very grateful to have you here.'

Myrrh smiled. 'Thank you, Len. I – I'm glad you're here. All the villagers are very kind, but sometimes they can be... well...'

'Too reverent?' he said with a grin. 'Well, they're trying to get over generations of worshipping the Great Dragon after all, and having her live among them as a normal girl is always gonna be a bit hard to swallow. Maybe it's cos I haven't spent that long here that I never got used to seeing you as... well, you know, the Great Dragon and all that. Er... hope you don't mind.'

'No, I'm very happy that you see me like that,' she said earnestly. 'But... if you're uncomfortable with it in any way, then that's fine. I can wait.'

'Are you kidding?' he said, laughing. 'There's a reason why I get chewed out by Grandmother Dara all the time for unintentional disrespect, you know. If anything, it's harder for me to keep on thinking of you as the thousand-year-old Great Dragon all the time rather than as just Myrrh.'

Myrrh smiled, this time a full beam that brought a ruby-like shine to her eyes. 'Thank you Len,' she said. 'You always seem to make me smile.'

_How can this little girl be over a thousand years old?_ he thought as he looked at her infantile gaze._ Three years in Caer Pelyn and I still can't quite get my head around it._

'I think that's the only thing I'm really ever good for, to be honest,' he said with a pained expression. 'Anyway, I need to go, if I'm late, then Marisa might end me before I even get started on this mission. But don't worry – I'll be back before you know it, and I promise I'll make you some of those cinnamon rolls from Jehanna you like so much.'

Myrrh's eyes lit up. 'You promise?'

'You bet. I'll see you soon, Myrrh.'

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, there you have it! The prologue and chapter one in all their OC glory. Oh, and yes, Len _is _going to be the 'Lord' figure in FEHC, so I hope he will grow on you, as you will see an awful lot of him. I'm going to try and squeeze in as many of the characters from FE8 into this fic, but I hope you'll forgive me if this sometimes fails, or I end up giving them a smaller role than what you guys may wish for. I've already counted that there will be more than twenty original characters joining the ranks of the original FE8 cast, and to be honest, there are too many characters that end up with the same job post-FE8, either returning to their country to help out with reconstruction or disappearing off for some reason - Renais alone for instance has almost seven characters all becoming troops of some sort in its army (Seth, Franz, Kyle, Forde, Garcia to name just a few). Also, the large number of royalty in the FE8 army - six to be exact - is one of the highest in any FE game I can think of, meaning that they all end up being in pretty high society by the time of FEHC. So I hope you'll all be understanding as to how I bring these characters into the plot - but please do offer guidance, criticism and ideas, and I'll be sure to check them all out. Thanks!


	2. II : Fate Unseen

**Author's Note:** Thank you very much Asherien for your review! I was seriously thinking that I wasn't going to get any reviews at all, so yours was very welcome! I've made the necessary corrections to chapter one, and I'll do my best to make sure stuff like that doesn't happen again ^^ Anyway, there are going to be more OCs introduced in this chapter, so I hope they're acceptable.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fire Emblem.

* * *

**CHAPTER II**

– **_Fate Unseen –_**

* * *

If Marisa was unused to the mountainous terrain and thin atmosphere that characterised the Caer Pelyn range, she did not comment on it as she stepped quickly and lightly down the mountain path towards the Jehanna border, a hand always on the hilt of her sword. Len, having spent much more time to get used to the rocky paths than his silent companion, bounded energetically ahead of Marisa, his robes flying behind him as he leapt half-gracefully, half clumsily down the mountain trail. However, he was not nearly as well-trained in the art of pacing himself as the crimson-haired swordfighter, who had undertaken vigorous stamina training since she was a child. Thus it was no surprise that he ended up lagging behind Marisa's swift steps in no time at all, wheezing as he begged for a break.

Their plan was to make for the Jehannan border at Hamill Canyon, the last source of water before the merciless desert began. Rather than moving from oasis to oasis across the desert, Marisa insisted that they stock up on sufficient water at the canyon and to head straight for Jehanna Hall. To Len, this seemed like a suicidal plan, particularly since he hadn't seen the desert in almost three years now and therefore wasn't sure if he could still handle the climate. However, when Marisa decided something, it was usually advisable that others didn't argue. Due to Marisa's seemingly inexhaustible reservoirs of stamina and Len's knowledge of the Caer Pelyn range, they were able to make good time and reached the edge of the mountains in four days. Just as the bottom of the sun began to touch upon the southernmost peaks of the Caer Pelyn range on the fourth day, Len and Marisa were finally able to see Hamill Canyon. At the sight of their first major milestone, Len didn't know whether to fall down in relief or to cry at the knowledge that their journey to Jehanna Hall was only half-complete. So he simply sat down on a nearby boulder, and took a quick drink from his water-skin.

'Phew! I'm beat,' he said, pouring some of the water over his head, dampening his untidy mauve locks. He looked out to see the view lit up by the late afternoon sunlight.

'Hamill Canyon,' he remarked, as if saying it out loud consolidated its realness. 'Thank heavens – I honestly feel like I could sleep for a week after that last run. After this, it's just a few more days to Jehanna Hall, as the crow flies, right?'

There was no answer. Len frowned as he noticed Marisa looking intently further down the path to the middle of the canyon.

'Marisa...?'

'There's someone down there,' she said suddenly. 'No, two people. Travellers, by the look of their dress.'

Len stood next to Marisa, straining his eyes to see what she was describing. 'And...? Wait, what are those?'

Marisa's eyes flickered ever so slightly as she gripped the hilt of her sword. 'Bandits.'

Without a moment's pause, Len began running down the path to the canyon. 'We're going to help them.'

Marisa leapt after him. 'Len! Stay behind me –'

'You're gonna have to run faster than that to get in front of me, then!' he called back at her impishly as he took out a magic tome from his bag.

* * *

As the bandits began drawing closer and closer to the pair, the older traveller's eyes flickered about them, sizing each of them up as she took a step backwards. She whispered to her companion, 'Stay behind me, Master Lucas – I will not allow you to come to harm.'

The closest bandit began to stretch out his arm towards her. 'You be a fine-looking lass... now I want you to hand over all yer gold nice and easy, and we might let you live.'

With a glare in his direction, the hand of the woman in question flew to the inside of her cloak, and the bandit's eyes widened as he drew back his arm – but not fast enough to stop the flash of silver from claiming his hand. The brigand screamed in pain as he dropped the axe he was carrying to clutch his bleeding stump.

'The same old bandit drivel,' she muttered, holding out her daggers where the bandits could see them. 'Don't you low-lives have any imagination? Stay back and perhaps _I _will let _you_ live.'

'Salome...' came the worried voice of her companion.

'Do not fear, Master Lucas,' she assured him, her eyes never wavering from the enemies in front of her, and her voice strong with conviction. 'I will not allow any of these vermin to lay a hand on you.'

The bandit who had lost his hand threw a look of pure hatred in her direction. 'Ugh... you wench! Ebe's bandits show no mercy!'

One of the bigger ones nearer the back shouted, 'Let's get them, lads! Gut them both and rob their corpses to the bone!'

With a rugged cry, the bandits all advanced, their weapons raised high.

* * *

Len saw the bandits charge as he opened up his tome, and quickly forming the necessary signs with his hand, he felt the elements respond to his summons. Wind whipped up around him, throwing his robes up into the air, and he raised his arm over his head in a familiar motion. As he prepared to unleash his spell, he took in the sight of the situation at hand. There were two travellers, one being only a boy, of roughly fifteen or sixteen by his estimation – evidently blind, judging by the cloth that bound his eyes. The other, female and only a few years older than the boy, seemed to be fending off the bandits with a pair of daggers, but her movements seemed to show she was more focused on protecting her companion than taking out her enemies. There were roughly a little over a dozen bandits in all (though one had lost his hand), most likely a larger party planning on attacking a nearby village when they had spotted two easy targets ripe for the picking.

_Thirteen of them, all swinging pretty heavy axes_ – _one-on-one's gonna take too long. If I recall anything of Marisa's swordplay, all I need is to make a distraction for her to get in and do her thing. But that smaller traveller's gonna be tricky - it doesn't look like he fights. And no matter how good his companion is with those knives, fighting defence against axes that big can't be too easy, especially since she looks like a cloak and dagger fighter by the looks of her. I'd better move in quickly to support them after Marisa hits the fray. Alright then, here goes nothing_ –

With his strategy set, he drew his arm back, and swept it down, releasing the force of his summoned wind with a shout.

'_Alacalibur!_'

The gust that answered his call rose into the air before rushing down upon the unwary bandits, narrowing into cutting blades of wind before scattering throughout the brigands' ranks, some knocked backwards, others yelling in pain as the air sliced at their skin. The damage was minor, but it was enough to make them turn their heads towards the mage who cast the spell. However, the edge of Len's mouth curled ever so slightly as he closed the tome and began moving towards them – only to be overtaken by a flash of crimson and the sound of unsheathing steel as Marisa leapt into the fray, a body falling to the ground dead even as she pivoted around gracefully to face her next target.

The bandits were unprepared for such a fearsome assault, and Marisa's sword had not tasted an opponent in many days – her strokes were merciless as the edge of her blade glided swiftly across the flesh of her enemies. Len figured that Marisa could take at least four of the bandits at once. Now to the other half of his strategy. He moved quickly to close the gap between himself and the blind traveller. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a brigand move to intercept him. He spun round on the ball of his foot, and as the bandit raised his axe to strike him down, Len lunged forward and seized his arm before it had a chance to fall. With his free hand, he gathered magic in it once again and he struck the bandit in his abdomen with his palm just as he released his spell. He deliberately dampened the power of the spell so that the wind did not cut into his body, but impacted with great force. The man stood no chance from such a distance, and was blown backwards a considerable distance, spinning once in the air before landing on his face, unmoving.

Len finally made his way to the blind boy and his companion, who deftly parried an oncoming axe-blow and with two slices to the tendons of his arm and one across his throat, made quick work of her enemy. 'We're here to help out,' he said to them as readied another spell. 'I'll maintain a defensive position here, if you would be so kind as to help my companion to rout the rest of these bandits –'

'I thank you for your aid, but I'm afraid that is out of the question,' the woman said curtly. 'I am sworn to protect Master Lucas, and I will not leave him under any circumstances.'

Len gave a surprised expression at her eloquence that ill-matched her shabbier style of dress. _This could be one of those moments where I make an inappropriate comment about being like a vegetarian wyvern... but maybe not right now. _

Covering his thrown expression quickly, he said, 'Uh... alright then. In that case, please stay close to me. The range of your knives isn't very long, so I can cover you with my magic.'

The woman nodded in approval. 'You have my thanks,' she said. 'My name is Salome, and my companion here is my charge, Master Lucas, a bard.'

'My name is Len. It's a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps we can have a slightly longer chat in a more agreeable scenario after we've cleaned out all these goons.'

Salome's grave face showed the barest hint of a smile. 'Indeed. I have no doubt that it was a divine power that sent you to us. I trust you to watch my back, Master Len.'

'And yours mine, Lady Salome,' Len grinned back as he released another wind spell at a group of bandits who were closing in on Marisa. Blinking back the slight fatigue that followed, he was about to summon another when he felt a tug on the edge of his robes.

'Wait,' said a voice from behind him. 'I can also offer some assistance.'

He turned to see the blind boy take out what looked like an ornate wooden flute from out under his robes, and began playing a soothing melody – a tune which seemed to stretch far back into the ages, like the sound of the earth first waking, the sun first greeting the east, and the first gurgle of the mountain stream. Suddenly, he felt his fatigue melt away, his vision become clearer and his senses sharper.

'I... this is...'

'My song has the ability to refresh you should you feel fatigued,' Lucas said to him, putting away his flute. 'This paltry gift is all I am able to do to aid you in battle. Please protect Salome from harm.'

'Master Lucas, my purpose is to protect _you_,' Salome insisted.

Len looked from one to the other, but then said, 'Look, we can argue about who's protecting who later. For now, let's just focus on finishing things off here.'

Salome and Lucas nodded in agreement, and turned back to the battle on hand. As Len released a spell to throw another bandit high into the air, he glanced at Marisa fighting right in the middle of the melee. She was, as expected, proving to be more than a match for the bandits. Gracefully stepping from one opponent to the next, her dance-like movements brought death to all who dared to step to close. Already he could count almost seven still bodies lying around her, and although watching Marisa in her lethal waltz was undeniably breathtaking, Len could not ignore the gruesomeness of the corpses that desecrated the grass with their blood.

Forcing himself to focus back on the fight, he decided that since most of the bandits were concentrating on Marisa now, he needed to try to relieve some of the pressure off his friend. Leaping back lightly to avoid an axe blow, he took two quick steps to move himself right up close to the bandit's body, closer than the bandit's axe could reach. He called up his magic once more, and this time, he directed the blades of wind to cut at the man's tendons on his arm, making him incapable of holding his weapon. The brigand screamed as he obediently dropped his axe, before being propelled spectacularly into the air as Len hurled the remainder of the summoned wind into his stomach. He landed with a sickening crunch. He turned to see how Salome and Lucas were doing – now with less bandits looming down on her, she seemed to be taking them out one by one easily enough. Looking back at Marisa, he spotted one slightly bigger man throwing his fellow bandits into Marisa's path, desperately trying to halt her unstoppable strokes. Len guessed that this one must be the leader. He inched closer, gathering the wind about him once more and channelling it into a spiral, aiming at the bandit's weapon arm.

_Take out that arm, then half the job ought to be done,_ he thought as he released his spell. The wind twisted towards the bandit's hand, cutting into his wrist. With a howl of fury, his weapon fell to the ground, and Len was quick to move in, forming another spell as he did so. However, Len made two errors – firstly, in his rush to take advantage of his opponent's disarmament, he released his spell when it wasn't quite complete, and therefore not at its full power . Secondly, this bandit was slightly heavier than the others, so when he released his spell, his weight ensured that he wasn't thrown as high as were the others. The brigand landed heavily, but with his bones all intact. He got up, growling, stepping away from the melee where Marisa and Salome were fighting off the rest of the bandits.

'So,' he growled menacingly through missing teeth, 'A brat thought he could take on Ebe, the Hound of Hamill?'

Len scrunched up his face distastefully at dental care – or lack thereof. 'Even a brat would be able to come up with a better name than "Hound of Hamill",' he retorted. 'I mean, seriously... you goons spend so much time robbing and pillaging that you don't invest nearly enough effort expanding your vocabulary. I swear I must've heard at least five bandits who call themselves "Hounds of wherever".'

'You little – I'll crush you with my bare hands!' Ebe roared as he lumbered towards him.

For all his bravado, Len wasn't entirely sure if he was up for facing up against this foe on his own. But he was closing his distance, hands outstretched, and so Len opened his tome, using his free hand to form the correct gestures in the air. He barely stepped around the bandit leader's wild grab, and he parried one of Ebe's thick arms upwards, giving him the opening he needed to deliver the final blow, the spell all ready in his hand – and then, he saw it. An expression of utmost hatred, a look of pure murder and malice was etched upon every inch of the man's face even as Len's hand drew back to release the spell. All of a sudden, he was fully aware that this was no longer practice, no longer a game – the axes, the blood, and if he made a mistake, the consequent death was all too real. That hesitation was enough for Ebe to recover, turn his body around and his hands wrapped around his throat –

But Len felt no pressure on his neck. In fact, the hands fell away completely as Ebe's dull eyes stared in disbelief at the shining steel that seemed to grow out of his chest, and around it, the blood – his blood – spread outwards, staining his shirt with the dark red shade. Then, he looked at Len one more time before he fell, not seeing, not moving, not breathing.

Len's knees shook a little as he tore his eyes away from Ebe's corpse, while Marisa stepped over it, wiping her blade clean on the bandit's clothes before she sheathed it. Len followed suit and closed his magic tome, placing it in his satchel. However, he could not stop his fingers from fumbling with the latch, a movement which Marisa, if she noticed, did not comment upon.

'It's done,' she said simply.

'Yeah, it's over,' Len said, unable to stop the slight shake in his voice. This time, Marisa did speak up.

'... Are you hurt?'

Len looked up at her, and was surprised to hear a hint of concern as she spoke. 'Huh? No, no... I guess I'm just a little tired,' he said, smiling – but the smile did not quite reach his eyes. 'This... this is it, isn't it? This is real battle...'

Marisa blinked, not understanding. 'What of it?'

'I... I've never had to fight for my life before,' he murmured, attempting to steady his breath. 'It's nothing like I've ever imagined... heh, or rather, if I'd imagined it, I would never have dreamed it was anything like this.'

'... I'm not sure I understand,' Marisa said after a while. 'Do you need a vulnerary?'

'Eh? A vulner – oh. No, I don't,' he said, this time with a real smile. 'I'm fine, really.'

Looking back at the two travellers they had helped, he gestured towards them. 'C'mon, we should go and greet our new acquaintances.'

Salome was checking her companion for injuries, while he appeared to be assuring her that he was fine. Now that there was no longer the confusion of combat surrounding them, Len could have a better look at the oddly-matched pair. Lucas wore a simple grey doublet, white shirt and a pair of short breeches secured by a belt on which hung his flute. Over his doublet was draped some sort of loose periwinkle robe with gold trimmings, somewhat akin to a monk's robe. His eyes were covered with a strip of grey cloth, while a purple scarf was wrapped around his head and neck, obscuring most of his facial features from view. On his feet he wore a set of sandals with crossing straps that rose up to his knees – an odd choice of footwear for a traveller.

His companion was dressed in a long slightly worn cloak that looked like it had once been some bluish shade, now an ashen colour, which fell in such a way that the cloth seemed to deliberately hide her hands from view. Underneath her cloak she wore black leather boots over a pair of tight-fitting leggings, and matching fingerless gloves on her otherwise bare arms. The skirt of her charcoal blouse ended a little ways past her hip, and was fastened by a harness of some sorts where Len guessed she kept her daggers. However, her most striking features were her waves of ivory hair that gracefully cascaded down her back despite being held up by a dark bandanna, and her intense eyes, like two icy sapphires which appeared to take in everything in a single instant.

When the two travellers noticed them approaching, they looked up from their dialogue and bowed their heads in greeting.

'We are indebted to you both,' Salome said to them. 'Had you not come to our aid, it is entirely possible that we may not be standing here now.'

'No, we only did what was right,' said Len. 'I hate to see people facing such odds, especially against those as low as bandits. Anyway, it looked like you were doing just fine – we were only here to help things along.'

'You humble yourself, Master Len,' she insisted. 'Without your assistance, I would not have been able to protect my charge. The blessed light must have been shining on us this day.'

Len blinked at the connotations of her words. From what he could discern of her fighting, she was not a holy woman, at least not of the cloth, since she used knives and showed no proficiency with either staves or light magic, the usual tools of those in the holy order. From the way she used her cloak and held her weapons hinted more towards the occupation of a trained killer, or taken a stretch further, a veteran assassin.

_That would most certainly explain her fighting style,_ he thought. _All those light steps and quick movements with the weapons held closely to the body. __But why would an assassin of all people be protecting a blind boy?_

'Uh... right,' Len said, still a little thrown. 'I don't mean to pry, but er... may I ask what brings you to Hamill Canyon?'

Salome gave an uncertain glance at Lucas, and although he was blindfolded, he seemed to look back at her, nodding briefly. She turned back to them and explained, 'We are travellers from Rausten, and we are on a journey to a village up in the mountains of Caer Pelyn.'

Len's eyes widened and he turned to look at Marisa, whose face showed her usual indifference at the mention of the familiar location. 'Caer Pelyn?' he repeated.

'You know of it?' Salome asked, her expression hopeful.

'Well, I should think so, I've been living there for the good part of three years or so,' he replied with a smile. 'But it's pretty hard to find if you aren't well-accustomed to the region...'

'Would it truly be too much for us to ask if you could possibly guide us to the village?' she requested earnestly.

At the sincerity of her request, Len had the strangest feeling, almost as if he was somehow committing some kind of sin as he admitted, 'Uh... regretfully, no. I mean, normally, I'd be more than happy to help out, but it's just that I'm currently on a... an errand of sorts. We have a rather important message to deliver to someone at the Lagdou Ruins, and –'

'Details of a job shouldn't be disclosed unless completely necessary,' Marisa spoke from beside him. 'Especially to strangers.'

Len winced at the truth of her words, but still retorted back quietly, 'Come now, they mean well. I think.'

'Salome,' Lucas spoke up, his unseeing eyes looking up at her. 'I think it would be best if we accompanied Master Len to his destination.'

'Eh?' Len exclaimed, completely taken off guard.

'But Master Lucas –' Salome began to object, but Lucas simply shook his head slowly.

'The heavens work fate in mysterious ways,' he reasoned gently. 'We cannot always believe in only what we see ahead of us. It is as you said yourself, Salome – there is a divine power at work here, one that sent Master Len and his companion to us. I am certain the heavens did not mean for them to merely save us and then disappear. Perhaps it is bidding us to follow them into the unseen.'

Salome seemed to struggle with this for a moment, but then relented and said, 'I am your humble servant. Wherever you wish to go, Master Lucas, I shall follow and serve you to the best of my abilities.'

Lucas turned his blindfolded gaze to Len. 'If it is not too much trouble, Master Len... would it be possible for us to join you in your travels?'

'Er... no, of course not,' the mage replied, not entirely sure what else he could say. 'More the merrier, right?'

Marisa suddenly took his arm and pulled him aside. 'I was hired to protect you and you alone,' she reminded him. '_They_ aren't part of the job.'

'Look, Marisa,' he said with a sigh, 'At times, we have to be more flexible. If you're worried about the gold, then I promise I'll figure something out with Gerik once we get to Jehanna Hall. And besides, there're still renegade mercenaries and bandits running around the desert. There's safety in numbers, right?'

'You're the client,' Marisa said impassively. 'I'll do whatever you need me to do. But when that client is travelling with an unidentified and highly-skilled assassin, the job gets a little... complicated.'

As Marisa began to walk away to set up camp for the night, Len dared another quick glance at their new companions, and the aforementioned assassin in particular. He sighed inwardly.

_Yikes... why do I always get stuck with the scary women...?_

* * *

**Author's note:** I've always wanted to recreate a Jaffar/Nino-esque scenario with an assassin whose main skill is to kill, to be in a position where they have to protect someone. So while Jaffar was able to suppress his natural killing tendencies with love/friendship, I was wondering how Salome could be led to feel the need to guard someone's life - and then came the idea of having a religious assassin without being part of a cult of blade-wielding zealots. I'll play out more of their backstory as the fic progresses. But for now, please read and review! These reviews are food for thought, and therefore food for updates :D

EDIT: The spell 'Alacalibur' is not one of my own creation. It was supposed to be an Aircalibur tome for FE7, complete with its own animation, but was left unused in the game code. I took it and turned it into Len's 'Lord' weapon. I figured it would be best to try to keep things as canon as possible instead of randomly throwing too many original things in ^^


	3. III : The Hall of the Tempest King

**Author's Note:** Thanks to NewPaladin for the review! I'm actually really internally fraught as to how to describe Marisa's hair – since in-game she's known as 'the Crimson Flash', I wondering if I ought to depict her as crimson-haired or purple/pink-haired... so I'll continue to use crimson for now, please don't hate me! T_T

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fire Emblem.

* * *

**CHAPTER III**

– _**The Hall of the Tempest King –**_

* * *

After they had rested and replenished their water supplies, Len and Marisa headed into the desert, along with their two newfound companions Salome and Lucas. The desert was as inhumane as he remembered, if not more so. The burning sheets of light shot down by the afternoon sun pierced the cloudless sky and scorched the sand, making it ever harder to stop reaching for the precious water in their flasks every minute. The route which Marisa had charted took them close to only a single oasis about two thirds of the way to their destination, so they had to use their water sparingly. While it was certainly rough going, their plotted course potentially saved them at least a day of travelling, and they had managed to reach the oasis with the same quick pace Marisa was known for pushing. When night fell, Len was more than ready to give up setting up camp altogether and sleep for at least a week next to the calm pool of water – or even in the pool itself.

Once they set up their respective beds and a decent fire (Len did this part, since he'd learnt over time that Marisa didn't really make very good fires), they were able to rest their tired bodies. Although during the day it was unfailingly hot, the desert nights could get quite chilly, so the warmth of the flames was more than welcome. Salome and Lucas went to bed almost immediately – the blind bard's caretaker insisted that he rest whenever he was able. While Marisa was away doing her daily sword practice, Len sat contentedly, with his back against the curving trunk of a palm tree, happily chewing on a piece of freshly-picked fruit as he watched Marisa go through her forms.

It was undeniably beautiful, watching the tip of the blade soar through the air, flashing red and blue by the alternating light of the moon and the flames. Marisa's crimson hair blazed through the darkness of the night as she swept her sword through a series of smooth, flowing motions. Len followed the movement of the blade quietly, trying to imagine what it was like to move like that flash of deadly steel. While her form was flawless, her movements effortless, there was something inexplicably unusual about the manner in which she swung her blade. Len frowned as he tried to put his finger on it – perhaps it was in the way the curvature of her sword edge did not seem to flow at precisely the same angle as her elegant swings, or maybe at the rare occasions that she appeared to stretch her arm just a little more than usual when she did her wider slashes.

_Almost like she's trying to cut something beyond the air... or is it something else altogether?_

When Marisa sheathed her sword, Len clapped quietly so as not to wake their sleeping companions. 'That was amazing, Marisa.'

She shrugged as she walked to sit near the fire. 'It's the usual,' she said neutrally. 'If I don't do at least this much, I'll never reach the standard I need to be.'

'Even better than now?' Len said with a laugh. 'I can't imagine that. Come to think of it, I never got to thank you properly for yesterday. If you hadn't been there, I could've been in deep trouble.'

'No need to thank me. I'm just doing my job.'

'Even so, I'm glad it was you I got for my escort,' he said. 'I was so overwhelmed by the reality of battle that I sort of lost my nerve back there.'

'Losing focus in battle means death,' Marisa said bluntly.

Len winced at her frankness. 'Yeah, I figured. I guess I ought to practise too, if I'm ever gonna be able to survive out on the battlefield. Say, you couldn't help me out with that, could you?'

Marisa took a moment to pick up on his last sentence, before answering, '... You want me to be your sparring partner?'

At this point, Len was still optimistic as he said, 'Yeah, sure! Maybe you can teach me some of that footwork you use. I'm no swordsman, but those forms look they help a lot with your movement... and it might be helpful for you to practice against someone who uses magic as their – w-wait! Why are you taking out your sword?'

'You said you wanted to spar. So let's spar.'

Len quickly began to realise the error in willingly giving Marisa a reason to use her weapon. 'H-hey, wait up, we don't have to go at it _now_ – I mean, we've still got a full day of travelling to do tomorrow, it wouldn't do if we were both exhausted, right?'

Marisa seemed to consider this point, and as Len continued to sweat bullets, she finally sheathed her sword. 'Fine. Rest now, and we'll fight tomorrow.'

As she began to head to unfold her bedroll, Len let out a huge breath. _Holy stones, what dark grave have I dug for myself now?_

***~-0-~***

As Len predicted, the Hall came in sight as the sun dipped below the horizon, and they all breathed a collective sigh of relief as they realised their desert trek had come to an end. With the last of the red sunlight giving its final dues to the incoming night sky, the Hall was silhouetted beautifully against its beams of scarlet and amber. It was not as stupendous as the ornate artistry of the Rausten Court, nor did it have the same imposing, impenetrable might of the stalwart Grado Keep. However, with its rising steps, elegant pillars and graceful archways, there was certainly a dignified, almost mythical beauty about the saffron-coloured stone structure that was Jehanna Hall. As Len admired the way the fiery light of the dwindling sun played across its sandy walls, a memory of a scene struck him with a suddenness he was unprepared for –

'_Father! Father!'_

'_Wha – a survivor?'_

'_You must flee! Quickly, before the flames engulf us all!'_

'_Princess Eirika. We must evacuate...'_

'_Father! Father, where are you?'_

Len blinked as he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see Lucas, his usual serene smile replaced a grave expression, and he couldn't help but feel that the bard had somehow seen what he had seen. 'Are you alright, Master Len?'

The mage forced a smile and gratefully patted the boy's hand. 'Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks. Let's get inside, it's gonna take a month to get all this sand out of my clothes.'

At the gates of the hall, Len gave his name to the sentry on duty, and he opened the doors for them. They were greeted by a tall, muscular man with spiky green hair who grinned broadly when he saw them.

'Well, I'll be – if it ain't Marisa!' he exclaimed, drawing her into a hug. Len's jaw almost dropped, even though he knew who this man was – anyone who could freely seize Marisa in such a way without fear of losing his head had to be a god.

_Gerik, I respected you before, but I take that back. You ought to be revered,_ he thought as he watched with disbelief as Marisa's usually pale, emotionless face suddenly seemed flustered, and colour began rising into her cheeks. She merely stammered out, 'Ch-chief...'

However, he had spotted Len and he barely had time to raise a hand in greeting before he was knocked almost clean off his feet by a thump on the back. 'It's been a long time since I've seen you, my friend!' he said heartily. 'You've gotten a bit taller, haven't you?'

'It's good to see you too, Gerik,' he coughed out as he tried to get air into what was left of his lungs. 'You seem to be in er... top condition as usual.'

'Flattery won't get you anywhere down in Jehanna, pal,' Gerik told him, ruffling his hair. 'Though I'm not complaining.'

'Look, Gerik, I know it's been a while, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't make me feel like I'm a child all over again,' Len said with a pained expression.

'Can't help it, you always looked younger than your years,' he grinned back. 'Or maybe I'm just getting older. It might be worth thinking about that retirement.'

'No, Chief,' Marisa said forcefully. 'You're our leader. You can't go bunking off.'

'And what would the King do without you?' Len added. 'You're the royal guildmaster, your forces make up almost a third of the mercenaries in allegiance to Jehanna.'

At this Gerik's smile faded a little. 'Yeah, the King... he's having some troubles and a half right now,' he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. 'But more of that later. You guys must be totally famished after crossing the desert like that. You guys need to get some real food down ya – c'mon, I've got a proper roast going and you're all welcome to take your fill... incidentally, who are the other two?'

'Oh, man, I totally forgot!' Len said, smacking his head with his palm. 'Gerik, this is Lucas and his caretaker Salome, from Rausten. Lucas, Salome, this is Gerik, the royal guildmaster of Jehanna.'

The two Rausten travellers bowed. 'We are honoured to meet you, Sir Gerik,' Lucas said respectfully. Gerik waved away the formalities.

'No need for the "sir" part. I'm just a mercenary, not a lord. I'm just Gerik with you guys. Though I'm intrigued as to what two Rausten folk are doing down in Jehanna.'

'I think that's a story better told over the dinner table,' Len said, unable to stop his stomach from growling.

Gerik laughed again as he gave Len another debilitating thump on the back. 'You're right, as always! I hope you guys are hungry. Now, tell me how things are kicking up in Caer Pelyn. How's the elder's doing? Saleh taking good care of her?'

He led them through the winding corridors into a spacious room, where he spoke briefly to a servant. He served them fruit juice (since none of them except Gerik seemed to drink wine) while they waited for the food, during which Len explained their mission and how they managed to meet Salome and Lucas. Gerik's expression became grave as he listened to Len's tale, particularly when he mentioned Saleh.

'The Lagdou Ruins aren't a place for a single man to be wandering about in,' he said as the servants brought in their food. 'If I recall, only the most powerful monsters dwelt there, and even as an army in the War of the Stones, we only managed to get to the fifth floor before we had to retreat in case we took any casualties.'

'So do you reckon Master Saleh's in danger?' Len asked, a hint of anxiousness slipping into his voice.

Gerik smiled. 'Nah, Saleh's a smart guy. You of all people should know there's nobody like him with his magic in all of Magvel – he can take care of himself. But even so...'

'... Is there something else?' the mage pressed.

'We've been receiving reports of increased monster activity in the eastern regions of Jehanna,' Gerik said with some difficulty. 'We can't be too sure that the ruins are the origin of these creatures, but they've been coming out as far as the Narube River.'

Len frowned. 'Aren't there civilians living in that area?'

'Yep,' the mercenary leader said with a sigh. 'And the thing is... we simply don't have anyone to send over there. Jehanna's still not completely recovered yet, so we've had to send mercenaries all over the place to bring in some decent income. King Joshua's personal guard might be able to help out from time to time, but they're not allowed to travel without the King himself, and as far as I can see, the King's not gonna be going anywhere any time soon.'

At this, Marisa put down her glass and frowned slightly. 'Why's that?' she asked.

'We've been trying to keep it on the down low, but the Queen's been hit with an illness of some sort,' Gerik said, trying to rub some of the weariness out of his eyes. 'No-one knows what it is, or what could've caused it. All we know is that she's been stuck in bed for nearly two weeks now, and the King's been beside her almost every waking minute – he barely eats or drinks, let alone sleep. Safe to say he's not looking his best.'

As Gerik downed his glass, Len pressed his fingers together to consider what Gerik had said. The Queen ill in bed and the King worried to death over her – plus with the monsters in the east. It looked like Jehanna had been put in a tough position while he was away in Caer Pelyn. As a courtier of Jehanna, it was only right that he serve his country when he could...

'What if I went to check it out?' he offered.

Gerik gave him a confused glance. 'You mean the Queen?' he asked with a puzzled look. 'I know you're a mage and all that, but I don't think you'll be able to do much better than all the healers we've had look at –'

'No, not the Queen. I mean all the commotion in the Narube area. The fastest way to get to the ruins is across the river, right?'

'You'd do that for us?' Gerik said, smiling broadly. 'That would be just grand. Hell, I didn't know what to do. We barely have enough manpower to cover the all the ruckus happening around here. Especially with the news coming in from Rausten...'

'Rausten?'

They all looked at Salome, who had spoken up for the first time that conversation. 'Is there something amiss in my country?' she asked.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and before Gerik could say 'come in', it flew open and standing outside was a beautiful red-haired lady with an alluring outfit that would bring most men running within two sways of her body. 'Well, well, well... Gerik, you didn't tell me we had guests.'

'Tethys, the point of knocking is that you wait for someone to let you in?' Gerik said with amused exasperation.

'I know, Chief, but it's not like you weren't going to let me in anyway,' she said. 'And it's very rude to stop me from greeting an old friend.'

She swept over to Marisa to give her a warm embrace. 'Hello, Marisa! It's been far too long!'

Marisa patted her arm. 'Hello, Tethys,' she said, not displeased to see her.

'Oh, and who're your friends?' the red-haired woman asked, looking at the faces around the table, before she came to Len's. 'Is that... oh, it is! It's Len!'

'Hi, Tethys –' he began before Tethys wrapped him up in a hug as well.

'Look at you!' she cooed. 'You still look so young! But my, haven't you grown a bit taller?'

'Tethys,' Len tried to say (a relatively difficult task in this situation as half his face was currently pressed rather restrictively to her bosom), 'I'm not going to say that I'm not used to your tendency to... coddle, but I'd rather you didn't treat me like I'm three.'

'But Len, it's been such a while since I saw you last!' she said, finally releasing him. 'How long's it been, three years now? Yet you don't look a day over eighteen... how can I not fuss? Oh, how I envy the vitality of youth...'

'Indulge me,' the young mage said drily as he straightened the front of his robe. 'Anyway, you're not that much older than me – at least not old enough to comment on my youth. If it's any consolation, you look exactly the way the way I remember you three years ago.'

At this, Tethys laughed and (to Len's both horror and disapproval) pinched his cheek. 'Oh, you do know how to make a girl blush after all!'

Len did not what to do for a brief second, simply stunned with incredulity at what had just happened. _She did _not_ just do that. Is nothing sacred to this woman? My _cheek_, of all places?_

'Tethys,' he said in what he sincerely hoped was a more warning tone. 'We go back a ways, but if you pinch my cheek again, I might forget myself.'

'So who are your other friends?' she said, pointedly ignoring his comment.

'My name is Salome, from Rausten,' the ivory-haired woman introduced herself. 'It is a pleasure to meet you.'

'I am Lucas, also from Rausten,' said her blind charge. 'We were fortunate enough to meet Master Len and Lady Marisa on our travels, when they lent us their aid against a group of bandits who attacked us on the road.'

'My, my, up to heroics already,' Tethys teased, nudging Len gently. 'How lucky it is that you met up with such a courteous couple.'

Gerik, who was drinking out of his refilled cup at the time, made a spluttering sound and gasped as he attempted to pump air back into his lungs. Len didn't bury his face in his hands fast enough to see Salome's face flush slightly.

'We are not a couple,' she said with a slight edge in her voice. 'Master Lucas is my charge, and I his protector.'

_Tethys, you dig graves like no other,_ he thought with an inward sigh._ You should get a job as an undertaker. With the number of guys Marisa takes down, you could make a fortune._

'Oh, my apologies,' Tethys said with a graceful bow as Gerik continued to try to both cough, laugh and breathe at the same time in the background. 'I didn't mean to cause offence.'

'No offence was taken,' Lucas assured her with a smile.

'I think that might be enough chat for one night,' Gerik said as he finally subdued his fit. 'The food's getting cold and you must be starving. Eat up and rest up, and I'll brief you about the mission tomorrow.'

***~-0-~***

When they had concluded their meal, Gerik showed them to their rooms. They were not fabulous quarters, as they were neither royalty nor were they staying for more than one night. But after a week or so of rough sleeping, simply having a bed was more than welcome. However, after the rest of the castle had gone to sleep, Marisa stepped out of her room, sword in hand. The confines of her room was too small to be practicing as extensively as she wished, and she did not wish to break anything – not that she would, of course, but her purse at the moment was marginally too light to risk having to pay for damages at Jehanna Hall.

She made her way around the labyrinthine corridors that made up Hall – the five-story castle was by no means an easy place to navigate and she was searching for one room in the hundreds which made up the building. Her cool expression gave way to a slight frown of impatience as she got the impression that she had seen that same corner twice. She turned down another corridor in hopes that perhaps this one led to the training hall, but she suddenly caught sight of somebody standing in a wide room, silhouetted against the moonlight streaming down from an overhead canopy. She pause, unmoving, but the scabbard of the sword in her hand lightly struck the nearby pillar – in the silence of the room, the sound echoed briefly, but enough to make the figure turn around.

'Who's there? Show your – wait. Marisa?'

Now that he had turned around, Marisa could see his face – it was the mage, Len. Figuring there was no point running away, she walked out of the shadows to face him. Len glanced at her sword and grinned. 'You going to practise?'

'Yeah,' she said. 'My room's too small.'

He laughed, the jovial sound rebounding eerily off the silent stone walls. Marisa frowned. 'What are _you_ doing? You said you were resting.'

'Oh, don't worry, I'll definitely get around to that,' he assured her. 'I'm just paying a visit... to my father.'

The swordmaster's confused expression deepened. 'Your fa...! Oh.'

Looking around, Marisa realised where she was – it was the room which had formerly been the resting place of the Sacred Stone of Jehanna, the palace altar. After the war and the destruction of the Hall, it had been rebuilt as a commemorative chapel to the brave Jehannans who lost their lives in the conflict four years ago. Their names were inscribed all over the pearly-white walls, shadowy epitaphs of past heroics thrown into sharper relief by the silvery light of the moon upon the stone face. There was an altar on the far side which now held a different treasure than a holy jewel – the ashes of Ismaire, the late Queen of the White Dunes. Behind the altar was an immense pillar-like structure upon which were carved more names, as well as reliefs that depicted men with swords, standing proudly, looking up at a bright light that was shining from above.

'Do you know the story of this place?' Len asked fondly placing his hand on one of the inscribed stone walls. 'When Jehanna Hall was burnt down by Caellach and the Grado army, our King – well, I guess he was a prince back then – had to leave the corpses of all his fallen countrymen, soldiers and the body of his beloved mother inside in order to escape in time. The bodies of all those men were burnt to the point they were unrecognisable. Except for Queen Ismaire. Her body was miraculously left untouched – covered by the falling rubble, the fire did not reach her. King Joshua thought that it was a gift from the heavens.'

He gave a pensive smile as he looked up at the pillar behind the altar. 'The King swore that he would give all of the warriors of Jehanna who died in the fire a proper burial. But, well... no-one could tell them apart. Heh, of course they couldn't. Their faces were gone.'

Len paused a while, his finger tracing one of the names written on the wall. 'So the King gathered up all of the bodies of the dead, and cremated them. He then had a huge urn built here, in this chapel, and laid all their ashes inside. A lot of people questioned the morality of such an act, but then he told them, "These men laid fought together and died together for their country. What dishonour is there in being laid to rest together with your brothers-in-arms?"

'My father was one of those who died in the rebellion,' he continued. 'He was a commander in the Jehanna army, and was killed by Carlyle, betrayed by his fellow general and his friend. So when I first heard what the King was planning, you can guess how angry I got. But when he said those words... there was nothing I could say.'

He looked up at the ornate pillar that stood behind the altar – the urn in which the ashes of his father and his fellow warriors rested – with a sad look in his eyes. 'I want to be a son who my father can be proud of,' he said. 'But I've still got such a long way to go. I need to get stronger, much stronger than I am now. So that when I stand here, before the eyes of not just my father, but everyone who gave up their lives so that we could keep ours, I can tell them with confidence – "This life was worth saving".'

Len continued to stare up at the urn, till he suddenly seemed to catch himself, and looked back at Marisa with an embarrassed smile. 'Haha... sorry. I had a bit of a cheesy moment there.'

The crimson-haired woman shook her head. 'No. It's right to honour your father.'

They stood in silence for a while, both unwilling to talk for their own reasons – one was trying to think of something to say, and the other being Marisa. Eventually, Len said, 'Marisa, you... d'you miss your father?'

'... Why do you ask?'

'I was just thinking,' he said sheepishly. 'I mean, when I was still just a kid, I remember he'd try to teach me a little of the sword whenever he passed by the castle – I never had any talent for it, but then again, I think he was just doing it to humour my father. I was totally useless, but I always looked forward to his visits for some reason.'

Marisa didn't reply, so Len carried on, 'It's weird, isn't it? It was all such a long time ago... I can barely recall what it was like to have the weight of a sword in my hand anymore. But somehow, I still remember those lessons – the way he held his blade, how he flew across the sand...'

Suddenly, he stopped, realising who he was talking to, and flushed slightly. 'Ah, I'm sorry. What the heck am I talking about... I must be losing my head a bit in all this heat. My bad. I didn't mean to bring up any past ghosts...'

'Forget it. It doesn't matter,' she said curtly, and due to Marisa being so brief with her words all the time, it was difficult for Len to gauge whether she actually did care or not.

'... If it's worth anything, the way you move your sword reminds me a lot of your father,' he said in what he hoped was an encouraging voice.

'No,' Marisa said, turning her head to look up at the moonlit sky so that Len couldn't see her face. 'I'm not there yet.'

Len looked at her standing in the pale silver gleam, her form throwing a long shadow behind her, making her appear taller than she actually was.

_She really is a mystery and a half, _he said with quiet wonder. _She's proper scary when it comes to battle, but the Marisa who's standing there now... she's really something else._

'... Well, I'm sure you'll get there someday,' he assured her. 'Especially with all that training you put in, it's only a matter of time.'

At this, Marisa turned to look at him, as if remembering something. 'Hey.'

For some reason, Len felt an involuntary chill run down his back at the look in Marisa's eyes. 'Uh... yes?'

'Training. You said that we'd fight today.'

Len's heart dropped to somewhere beyond the ground floor of the Hall and dangerously close to the underworld. 'Er... come again? Really? Here? There's got to be at least a dozen different ways this could be seen as sacrilege of some sort –'

'No excuses. Let's get started.'

'W-wait! Yipes! Marisa, watch where you're swinging – woah! C'mon, I don't even have any magic tomes with me...!'

* * *

**Author's Note:** I thought it might be good to have a chapter where we could see some of Len's backstory – I mean, I've been brutally pushing out OCs in quick succession, and haven't given them sufficient time to sort of properly introduce themselves as actual characters rather than placeholders. And there's a nice bit of Len x Marisa here as well, since we get to see some of her history too – which isn't all canon, since I made some of it up :D Please, please, PLEASE read and review – I tend to get awfully disheartened when I don't get any feedback when I'm striving to update as regularly as possible :'(


	4. IV : The Black Rider

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all your wonderful reviews! While I've been spurred to write by all your comments, I feel the fatigue of reeling out five chapters in a relatively short time - a pace which I can't say that I'm really used to. So the output of chapters might become slightly slower after this one. But I will continue to work towards at least a weekly update, since I don't want to have an unfinished fic having over my head in two years' time.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fire Emblem.

* * *

**CHAPTER IV**

– _**The Black Rider –**_

* * *

Len awoke to the pain of rolling over in his sleep as the reminders of his ill-fated escapade the night before lanced sharply through his body. He winced as his shoulder gave clear expression of its discontent at its recovery being disturbed, and attempted to sit upright in his bed. He ached almost everywhere, on almost every layer of his body. His bones ached, and whatever was inside of his bones ached too. He groaned in despair as he thought of the long trek in the days that loomed ahead of him, along with the continuing training sessions that Marisa would be certain to insist upon every day without fail. His piteous moan was that of a man looking at death in the face for the second time that week – or of someone just waking up from a _really_ bad night.

It had been endurable for about the first minute – despite not having any weapons, his quick footwork was able to catch her off-guard and he was able to parry her sword arm and deliver a hit on her side. However, he failed to notice in his panic to react that Marisa had been deliberately holding back, and once he saw the glint in her eyes change after conceding a point to him, he got the feeling that he had been straying too long from his grave. To her credit, she had used the reverse side of her sword, which must have given her some sort of handicap in terms of wrist movement and range, but he was nevertheless no match for the speed of her strikes, the unexpected strength of her strokes, the fluidity of her movements and, of course, that killing intent which downright scared him silly.

He looked at how far the sun had risen over the horizon and gave another beleaguered grumble as he forced his wounded body to rise and get ready, asking himself once again what awful sin he had committed in a past life to deserve becoming the training partner of the Crimson Flash herself. Especially when he wasn't even a swordsman! _A young man, a beautiful lady, and stunning moonlit evening,_ he thought miserably. _Only Marisa could turn that situation into a chance to kill people. Only Marisa._

Len was still practically unconscious by the time all three of Len's companions had completed dressing and had congregated in Gerik's room for breakfast and their briefing. While they ate a simple meal of fresh bread and fruit with milk, Len desperately tried to keep his eyes open while Gerik took out a map and placed it on the table.

'The route you guys should take is here, straight across the middle,' the mercenary leader instructed, drawing a line with his finger. 'You could take a longer route around here to avoid the dunes, but since you have enough people used to travelling across the desert with you, you should be fine. Plus, there ought to be a small oasis right here, about halfway to the river,' he added, indicating the spot on the map, before throwing an apple at Len's head.

His head shot up from off the table, and he looked around blearily. 'W-wha? I didn't do it – oh. Right. Sorry.'

Gerik rolled his eyes before continuing. 'The journey there should be pretty straightforward – if you hurry, you could probably make it in two days knowing Marisa's pace,' he concluded. 'But from what the reports say, it's the actual skirmish I'm worried about.'

'Uhh... sorry, but what do the reports say?' Len asked.

'Well, Jehannans aren't exactly known for their descriptive abilities, I'll give you that,' Gerik said with a sigh. 'From what I could figure, there are a sizeable number of skeletons, with a few of those floating eye... thingies. Oh, and zombies, lots of them.'

'Revenants,' Len corrected him absently.

Gerik paused in his report. 'Come again?' he said with a baffled expression.

'Zombies are soulless beings being driven to move by an exterior force, while revenants are always dead bodies that have been reanimated. So it's more specific to use the term "revenants".'

The green-haired guildmaster stared at him, with a look that clearly asked whether he was still sleeping and his current speech was a result of a half-unconscious stupor. 'Uh... right. Whatever they're called, there's lots of them and they will kill you on sight. Is there anything really more complicated than that?'

'No, I guess not,' Len said with a shamefaced grin. 'Sorry. Intellectual reflex.'

'No worries. So, considering that the odds are mainly stacked against you, even with such skilled fighters at your disposal,' he said nodding respectfully to the two female combatants at the table. 'I thought it might be prudent if we bolstered your ranks a little before you left.'

He turned his head towards the door, and shouted, 'Felix! Sandro! Get in here!'

The door opened and two youths stepped into the room, standing to attention. One had raven hair swept backwards, dressed in a black sleeveless shirt and loose cream-coloured leggings, secured by both a sash and a belt which held a narrow-bladed sword, indicating that he was a myrmidon. He wore a pair of leather gauntlets over his hands and a thin red scarf was wrapped about his neck. He regarded the members of the table with an expression that looked like he was trying to be as serious as possible, but was unable to completely keep the mischievous glint out of his dark eyes. His younger comrade appeared to be an archer, dressed in a standard dark green tunic and white breeches, his bow slung in a lax fashion over his leather shoulder armour. He had sand-coloured hair which fell over his curious brown eyes, and his posture seemed a little more on edge than that of the myrmidon.

'This is Felix, one of our swordsmen, and Sandro, an archer,' Gerik said. 'They're not fully-fledged mercenaries yet, though you have my guarantee they'll serve you well on the field. I can't really spare any more men than these two ruffians, but they're both reliable boys. They should get the job done.'

'Come on, Chief, you owe us a bit more credit than that,' the one called Felix protested, at which Gerik merely cuffed him round the head.

'Don't get cocky now, this job ain't for small fry,' he warned them. 'If either of you don't come back here alive, I'll make sure I hound you to the corners of the underworld, you hear?'

'Don't worry, Chief, I'll take care of him,' the sandy-haired archer assured him.

'Alright, then that's everything. I've already had supplies replenished for you – it should be more than enough to get you to the ruins and back. I've given most of the luggage to the two louts here, so they shouldn't be too much of a burden on you.'

'Aw, what?' Felix complained. 'We get the heaviest ones?'

This outburst earned him another slap on the back of his head. 'Rule number two of being one of Gerik's mercenaries – always take care of your employer.'

'What's rule number one?' Len asked curiously.

'Don't die,' Gerik replied simply.

'Neat,' the mage remarked drily. 'I like that one.'

'I find it rather quickly becomes a personal favourite among the men,' the older man said with a grin.

***~-0-~***

Their journey to the Narube region took a considerably shorter amount of time than the journey to Jehanna Hall from Hamill Canyon. Not only was the distance shorter, they were now more used to travelling across the dunes, as well as being far better fed and rested than they had been when they had crossed the desert for the first time. In addition, their two new comrades, Felix and Sandro were used to surviving out in the desert. Felix knew many tricks to obtain water and remain cool while Sandro was able to hunt desert animals for meat. The shifting sand soon turned into greenery as they drew closer to the river, and they arrived at riverbank a few hours before noon on the third day.

The Narube River, once a thriving area, was now overcast with gloom. After monsters had overrun the eastern regions, few wished to dare occupy the castle that stood next to the riverbank – titular state or no, there was none who would accept ownership of such a desolate area. The dark mountains loomed through the thick fog that obscured from view anything else beyond four paces, which Len didn't think was very helpful in making the whole ominous impression of the Narube any less foreboding.

'Can you see anything, Salome?' Len asked, assuming that as an assassin, she was used to working in conditions with poor vision.

'I see nothing yet, Master Len,' the assassin replied, straining her eyes into the mist. 'The area is still – wait. There is something approaching from the north, beyond the fog. It is coming quickly.'

The mage frowned, straining to hear the sounds of the approaching foe. Then he caught it, the faint sound of hooves on the wood of a bridge before being dampened by the grass, but still the muffled noise was picked up by his strained ears.

'There must be tarvos out there,' Len muttered. 'Not good.'

'Tarvos?' Sandro repeated with a confused expression.

'Half-man, half-beast, all monster,' he said grimly. 'They have a torso that looks human, but their body and legs are that of a horse. I remember reading about them in the Tome of Nazania, chapter... er, I forget. Anyway, they have a tendency of using rather large axes. Very fast, very dangerous.'

Lucas turned his head towards the mage. 'Master Len, you appear very knowledgeable about these creatures,' he said in an impressed voice.

'Ha, "appear" is the right word,' Len said, trying to keep his laughter from sounding nervous. 'I have a tendency to reel out information when I get anxious.'

_Way to raise the morale, buddy,_ he thought as he mentally kicked himself. _I gotta pull it together._

'So you know what we're facing, right?' Felix said to him, his sword drawn. 'How should we kill it?'

Len looked at him, shock and incredulity mixed upon his features. _What, you're asking _me_ what to do?_ _Are you out of your mind?_

Suddenly, there was the sound of a whinny, and a vague shape appeared to loom out of the fog. Len quickly blurted out instructions as confidently as he could, 'Oh holy – what do I do, what do I do... er... alright, form up everyone! Uh... Marisa and Felix up front, Salome right behind. Lucas, stay back, Sandro with me. Get ready for battle, this one's gonna hit hard...'

Following his instructions, Marisa and Felix drew their swords, with Salome in the middle slightly behind them, daggers out. Len saw Sandro out of the corner of his eye carefully nock an arrow to his bow and take aim. He took out his magic tome and began the chant. The shape grew clearer and he prepare to release his spell as the fog parted and the enemy came galloping out –

Except it wasn't an enemy.

Len's eyes widened as he came face to face with the frightened expression of a girl riding on horseback. She had obviously not seen them through the fog and so when they suddenly appeared seemingly out of nowhere, the horse reared in terror. The girl screamed as she attempted to remain in control of her steed, her knuckles white as she held on tightly to the reins. She somehow managed to calm the terrified animal and it landed back on all four feet, breathing heavily. Panting from the effort of staying on her horse, the girl took a moment to get her composure back before looking at the group she had almost run over.

'Ah! Are you... you don't look like Rausten soldiers.'

Len was at this point so utterly baffled that he almost forgot to dismiss his spell. 'What? No, we're not soldiers. What would Rausten troops be doing here anyway –'

'Please, you must help me!' she said, dismounting quickly. 'There is a terrible fiend heading this way, with a horde of evil creatures at his command... I only just managed to get away. Please, I beg you! I-if it is gold you desire, I can pay you. It's not much, but it's all I have. There is a village nearby, with innocent civilians – those horrors must not reach it. I implore you! Please –'

'Woah, woah, lady!' Len cried, unable to take any more of the hysteria. 'Look, keep your gold, okay? We were going to take out all these fiends anyway.'

'Wha – you were?' the rider said in a bewildered tone.

'Yes, that's our job,' he said slightly irritably. 'And if you've quite finished giving away our position to any monster within half a mile of here so enthusiastically, perhaps you might consider cutting short the dramatics and getting back on your horse so you can retreat to a safe place?'

_I honestly got worked up out of my wits for some drama queen on horseback,_ he ranted inwardly. _Can't you even by slightly sympathetic to what you're doing to my blood pressure here?_

The girl suddenly seemed at a slight loss for words. 'I... uh... well, um...'

'Wow, Commander Len's totally scary when he's pissed,' Sandro whispered to Felix.

'He's not the commander, idiot,' the myrmidon hissed back.

'Uh... wait! I can help you!' she said, as if something had suddenly dawned upon her. 'I am – was – in the service of the Holy Order of Rausten. I have some skill with healing staves which might be of use to you in battle.'

At this, Salome, who had been silently regarding the conversation from Len's side, started. 'A troubadour of the Holy Order?' the grey-clad assassin said in surprise.

Len processed this information, and he frowned as he tried to figure out if it was worth bringing along such an easy, defenceless target for its curative advantages. At least one of their fighters would be bogged down by defending such a unit, and they already had Lucas to think about.

_Salome's out, since she refuses to leave Lucas alone... and Marisa would get miffed if she couldn't kill as many things as possible. And I need her to lose some steam if I'm gonna survive another sparring match. I'd rather face a whole horde of dark atrocities on my own than try to take on Marisa in a bad mood. I don't know how good Felix is yet, and Sandro can't take on melee combatants. So that leaves... me. Darn._

Looking upwards, as if praying for patience, Len heaved a sigh, and said, 'Fine. Just stay close to me, and do anything stupid. Like scream.'

'Thank you! I'm eternally in your debt, Master... er...'

'It's Len.'

'Master Len. My name is Kara. It's an honour to fight beside you, good sir.'

'Great. Let's just hope that the fighting doesn't get that far,' he muttered as he readied his spells one more time, hearing from within the fog unearthly groans that sent chills down mortal spines. 'Now get back on that horse.'

As Kara obediently remounted her steed, Len rapidly began forming a strategy in his mind. _What do I know of healers... very little. They move, they heal, then die cos they can't fight back. But on the other hand, as a troubadour, she can use the mobility of her steed to get in and out battle faster than a cleric on foot, which I suppose is some kind of bonus... but with all this fog, we never know which direction the attack's going to come from. Hmm... in that case, the best tactic would be a mobile defensive position with the most vulnerable units protected in the middle._

'Alright,' he said, trying to keep the panic out of the voice as he readied his tome. 'We should form a protective perimeter around Kara, Sandro and Lucas. Kara and Lucas, support the defensive line from your inner position. Sandro, prioritise the faster enemies over the stronger ones so that they don't reach the non-combatants. Marisa, you take the north side as the main attacker, and Salome take the east side to watch the right flank. Felix will be our rear guard. I'll watch the mountains for mogalls.'

'How do you know there are mogalls there?' Felix asked in surprise.

'Mogalls can float over terrain, so it's natural to assume that they will take advantage of the higher ground and leave the more accessible field space for those on foot,' Len explained, recalling what he knew about the eye-like creatures. 'It's not purely a matter of tactical reasoning, but a sense of instinct. A bird will choose to fly rather than walk, so similarly, monsters will take advantage of their natural gifts – however messed up those gifts may be.'

He turned back to the field, but not before registering the impressed look on Felix's face with a self-satisfied smile, which was only half-guilty. 'Okay everyone, let's take them out!'

_And not die in the process,_ was his immediate afterthought.

***~-0-~***

With the superior fighting abilities of Marisa and Salome and the surprising success of Len's tactics, they were able to cut through the ranks of dark creatures without too much difficulty – the revenants were too slow to get close enough to the swordmaster to do anything before they were cut down, and the skeletal bonewalkers crumbled easily under her killing strokes. Posting Salome on the right flank had proven to be a good idea, as they discovered most of the fiends were congregated on the eastern bank of the river, and her perceptive vision had discerned enough of them for Sandro to take out a sizeable chunk of their forces before they knew what hit them. However, as they got further away from the mountains, the lightweight hovering mogalls over which his wind magic had an advantage were not the only enemy coming in from the west, and Len had been forced to launch spell after spell, ignoring the toll it took on his stamina and the glancing arrow wound he received on his cheek when he had been just a little too slow to dodge it. If it had not been for the invigorating song of Lucas' flute and (to his reluctant admission) the support of Kara's healing staff, the situation could have unravelled quite quickly.

'C'mon, everyone – we're almost there,' Len said encouragingly. 'One final push towards the castle, and then we're –'

'Commander Len!' Sandro shouted, involuntarily reverting back into mercenary terminology. 'On your right!'

Len turned around only just in time to duck, a huge shadow flying over where his head had been only moments before.

_What in the_ –

He instinctively opened up his tome and began chanting, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. But then he paused, as his attacker turned about to face him.

It was not a monster, but he was sure that it definitely wasn't entirely human. The steed upon which it rode had once been a horse, but now the panting, snarling animal before them glared back with the bloodshot eyes of a feral beast, driven to insanity by some dark calling in its mind. Its wild rampage appeared to be only held in check by the vice-like grip of its rider's gauntleted fist on its reins.

As Len beheld the rider, he could not help but feel a coldness drain into his veins. It was dressed entirely in void-black armour which had no sheen or shine – it was almost as if it drew in any kind of brightness from around it, a total absence of light. Its face was obscured by some sort of twisted helm, a burning plume of teal-streaked violet being the only discernable evidence of colour in the frightening monochromic presence of the armoured creature that was only describable as darkness incarnate. Len felt a instinctive, almost irrepressible urge to flee that only grew stronger as the black rider raised its other hand to reveal a jagged, cruel-looking battle spear with an obsidian shaft as thick as his wrist and a demonic bladed head which sinisterly proclaimed its purpose as a weapon created solely for delivering a torturous end to all who met it. Taking in this sight in all its unholy glory, it was safe to say that Len had never before been gripped with such a pure and debilitating fear in his entire life. His tome in hand, he watched the pitiless edge of that lance level towards him with an expert arm, and even as his mouth began opening and closing to the chant of the spell, he felt the numbing realisation that he was going to die.

But then, something flew by him like lightning, a burning line of crimson streaking past the corner of his eye as suddenly Marisa was before him, her lithe form unhesitant as she twisted towards the nightmarish steed and its rider in her dance of death – graceful, beautiful. But Len quickly saw that she was outmatched – despite the size of his spear, the rider wielded it with an inhuman deftness, parrying her strokes and jerking his steed away from the edge of her blade while striking with swift jabs and slashes of such monstrous force that they tore up the ground on contact.

Marisa panted as she leapt back, preparing her stance once more to attack. Even as she leapt in to the fray once more, Len knew that she would not succeed. The sheer difference in power was too much – while Marisa might be able to succeed in keeping up with the rider in terms of speed, the staggering strength of his attacks meant that she would never be able to parry such strikes without her weapon being shattered. Without being able to block, the rider was more than fast enough to spin away from Marisa's advancing steps, and fatigue would do the rest. Even with Marisa's admirable stamina, against the inexhaustible energy of the dark creature, it was only matter of time before she slipped up and met her doom.

_A diversion,_ Len thought. _If only I could draw away the rider's attention for just a second, Marisa might be able to get in a hit._

He looked at Sandro, who was trying to keep an eye on the duel between Marisa and the black rider while continuing to shoot at the continuing waves of monsters. 'Sandro!' Len shouted over the sounds of combat, 'Fire an arrow at that rider when I give the mark, got it?'

The archer nodded in return as he readied an arrow. Len began chanting his spell, summoning the wind into his hands. 'Now!' he shouted, and Sandro let fly as the mage released the wind to spiral after the path of the arrow, propelling it to greater speeds as it hurtled towards the rider. The armoured spearman's head shot up at the impending projectile and leant backwards to avoid the arrow and the cutting blades of wind. However, this was all that was needed for Marisa to leap up over him and to deliver three quick slashes in succession, all making solid contact on the rider's body.

_Did we get him?_

Len craned his neck to see the damage, and as he looked, his eyes widened in disbelief. The rider, unfazed, sat upright in his saddle, and the mage could not hide his expression of dismay as he saw that his armour was completely unmarked. _That's it,_ he thought with a sinking feeling. _We've lost._

The obscured, emotionless visage of the armour-clad rider seemed to contemplate them for a moment, but then, suddenly, he turned about and disappeared into the fog, gone before they could register his departure. At the black rider's retreat, the remainder of the monsters seemed baffled and unsure, but then also turned around and vanished into the shadows. In an instant, all was silent, broken only by the sound of the waves breaking on the riverbank.

Unable to quite comprehend what had just occurred, Len simply stared at the place where he had faced one of the most terrifying beings he had ever seen mere minutes ago.

'They... ran,' Kara murmured, the confusion clear in her voice.

'I've never seen those creatures actually retreat before,' Felix said with a frown. 'What could possibly –'

But the rest of his sentence was cut off as Marisa's blade whistled around to face Len and Sandro. 'Why did you help me?' she asked quietly, death etched in every word.

Len, taken aback by the murderous glint in Marisa's otherwise coldly indifferent face, gave a moment's pause before answering, 'B-because... I thought you were having some trouble –'

'I'm going after that rider,' she stated, not as an order or a request, but as if she was merely relaying an immovable and unchangeable fact. Except Len knew that there was no way he was going to let this happen.

'No,' he said, as firmly as one could when there was a sword held dangerously close to their throat, 'There's no way I'm letting you go. We're on a mission, and we're only half-finished. The day's almost out, and we need to get across this river and well away from this area before sundown.'

'I'm going after that rider,' she repeated, her voice in its same deadly monotone.

'Marisa,' Len said, trying to match her tone, 'Your contract is to stay with me, and I'm going on to Lagdou Ruins to find Master Saleh to give him the message from the Elder, the same mission that was given to you. And job or not, rider or no rider, you're still a member of Gerik's mercenaries... I was under the impression that there was a certain rule number two which all members adhere to?'

Sandro's jaw dropped while Felix whistled (very quietly), 'Checkmate...'

Marisa looked as if she wished to extend the length of her sword by a few more inches and decrease the length of Len's body by about a head, but after one final glare, she sheathed her sword, her bangs dropping to cover her eyes. If Len had been any further away, he would not have heard the indistinct whisper on Marisa's lips, 'He was so close...'

Then, she turned around sharply and strode quickly off into the east, across the river. Len looked back at the rest of his company, who mostly stared back with expressions of either shock or bafflement (even a strange kind of wonder on Felix's part), or mixtures of both. Sandro was the first one to break the silence, '... So... does she hate me too, or is it just you?'

As Len stared after the tell-tale crimson shape that was being obscured faster and faster by the fog, he gave a sigh. 'I think it might be herself more than anyone else,' he said almost inaudibly, more to himself than to his companions.

He could not stop his hands from shaking, but he couldn't tell whether it was from the encounter with the black rider, or from his confrontation with Marisa. _I cannot believe that I was actually in a position where I talked back to an angry Marisa armed with a sword... and actually managed to survive. I must be destined to die tomorrow._

Putting on a slightly more energetic smile, he gestured to the other side of the riverbank. 'Come on, our job's done here. We're gonna have to hurry if we're to make our schedule.'

'Erm, er... C-Commander...'

Len almost looked around him to see who she was talking to, before he realised that it was he who was being addressed. Looking to see who had called him, he saw the troubadour Kara with hand raised. Now that her emerald eyes were no longer quite as alight with fear as they had been when she first rode out of the fog, he noticed that she was in fact quite young – a troubadour of the Holy Order she may be, but under the mop of dark green hair, she couldn't have been older than fifteen. Len couldn't stop the feeling of guilt for bringing such a young maiden onto the battlefield, and as he looked at her, clad in the white robes of the Rausten clerics and waving her hand, he wondered why things had turned out so – waving her hand?

'C-Commander?'

'Eh? Oh, sorry. I sort of spaced out a bit there,' Len said with an awkward smile. 'Kara, wasn't it? Please, don't call me "commander". I'm no leader, and we're no longer fighting here anyway. Sorry I may have come across as a little... harried earlier. You were a great help to us today, thank you.'

'N-no, I was honoured to be of assistance to you,' she stammered as she attempted to dismount to the same level as the mage.

'Well then, er... we'd best be on our way. It was a pleasure to meet you,' Len said as he turned to leave.

'W-wait!' she said, catching him on the sleeve. 'Comman- I mean, Master Len. Please allow me to travel with you.'

Len frowned. 'What?'

Kara fiddled with her fingers nervously. 'I... I'm currently on a mission to bring a message to King Joshua of Jehanna. I'm afraid that I uh... I've lost my way somewhat. I was wondering if I could travel with your company until I found my way –'

'And what mission of such dire contents could bring a troubadour of the Holy Order to Jehanna?' a voice came from behind Len.

He turned around to see Salome, who fixed the young troubadour with a dispassionate look. To his surprise, Kara gave a gasp of recognition.

'S- sister Salome!'

'Sister?' he exclaimed, looking back at the assassin in disbelief. _Woah. I did not see that one coming._

The young woman managed to cover her discomfort by clearing her throat and looking back at Kara.

'Your name was Kara?' she said neutrally. 'You've yet to answer my question. What message by whose charge would take a single troubadour without any combat ability or an escort outside the borders of Rausten?'

Her frown deepened as she seemed to recall something else. 'Not to mention that you referred to Rausten soldiers earlier – what has occurred in Rausten that they would pursue one of their own to the edge of another country? Are you a deserter?'

'No!' Kara insisted, shaking her head. 'I am not! Well, I... I'm not with the Order at present, but I am no traitor to Rausten, I assure you!'

'... Then why are you here?'

The troubadour squirmed under the scrutiny of Salome's hawk-like gaze, and in spite of himself, Len was thankful he was not in her shoes. 'I... I-I'm afraid that I c-cannot tell you, Sister Salome,' she managed to say eventually. 'It's a message for K-King Joshua's ears only.'

She seemed about to either faint or burst into tears when Salome finally straightened up and turned to Len. 'If it would not trouble you, Master Len, I would humbly request that she be allowed to accompany us for now,' she said. 'But only if there is no inconvenience or impediment at all on our mission.'

'Er... sure,' Len said with a slightly helpless gestures of his hands. 'It can't be a bad thing to have a healer with us, right? Now, we _really_ need to get a move on. Knowing Marisa, she's probably already at the ruins killing everything in sight.'

By this time, they all knew Marisa well enough to realise that this was not a statement made entirely in jest.

* * *

**Author's Note: **This chapter took a particularly long time, since I was trying to give enough substance to the new OCs. While I'm wary of the fact that it's dangerous to give too many characters page time in one chapter, I feel like I sort of failed a little in bringing Salome and Lucas into the plot successfully in earlier chapters T_T Anyway, please read and review! ^^


	5. V : Ruinous Terrors

**Author's Note:** Yeah, so this one took a little longer than I thought it would, since I was doing some rehashing on the previous four chapters - reading back through what I'd done already, I thought that Len was a little more aloof than I intended him to be. So I decided to give some opportunities for more of his personality to show, and keep him from becoming a sort of generic 'good lord' character. Thank you for all your reviews, they really are all that keeps me going during all those late-nighters!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fire Emblem.

* * *

**CHAPTER V**

– _**Ruinous Terrors –**_

* * *

Although they had to run throughout the day to make it, they finally caught up to Marisa by nightfall. It would have taken them longer had they not had the aid of Kara's horse Alruna to help them carry some of their burdens, and had Marisa not stopped to set up camp when the sun dropped below the horizon. Fortunately for the surrounding shrubbery, Marisa had not yet started to light a fire, and when she saw Len approaching, she stood up without a word and headed into the nearby trees, no doubt to practise. The mage couldn't help but wonder whether making Marisa this mad had been a blessing, as she seemed too angry to look at his face let alone force him to spar with her, or whether this was merely the calm before the storm – that ungodly hurricane in which he would die a horrible and gruesome death at the edge of Marisa's weapon. He shuddered at the thought.

They had only brought enough bedrolls for the six of them, but Sandro valiantly relinquished his own to Kara and opted to take watch duty, switching bedrolls with Felix when he took over. Kara protested at first, joined by Felix for slightly different reasons, but were both silenced by Salome, who made it very clear that Lucas needed his rest and also of the consequences of disturbing that said rest. So Kara did eventually take Sandro's bedroll while Felix was left grumbling about the fact that Sandro drooled in his sleep. Len offered to take first watch duty so that Sandro and Felix could take a bit more time to rest. He set up his position on nearby rock, and while he thought it was a perfect place to practice Valega, he decided that the chances of him falling asleep on sentry duty were too high. Therefore, he took out one his tomes and began to read.

As he read, his thoughts drifted from the theories of fire magic and on to the battle they had fought earlier. His curiosity had been sparked by Salome's connection to the Holy Order of Rausten, the most noteworthy revelation which had occurred in recent events. Kara had referred to Salome as 'Sister', which implied – as impossible as it sounded – that Salome had once been a cleric of some sort. There was something incredibly awkward and foreboding at attempting to picture the lavender-haired young woman in the robes of the clergy – the image of the most dangerous-looking nun in history wasn't one which came up easily in his imagination. Judging by the obvious (and fearful) respect which Kara gave her, Salome must have been a priestess of some note, despite her lack of robes and healing staves. This would explain some of the piety which she showed when he and Marisa had first encountered the strange pair. But it still did not explain why she was carrying daggers than a holy book, and why she was so intent on accompanying Lucas to Caer Pelyn.

_If Salome was a priestess, then what would that make Lucas? As far as I can see, he's just a blind bard... though he almost seems like he can still see even with that blindfold on – what if he's just pretending to be blind? But what would require such an extravagant disguise... maybe he's nobility? No, Rausten's a theocracy, there's not much nobility to be had. Then what if he's not even from Rausten? Could he be a political hostage? No. Then there'd be no reason to send him to Carcino, and Caer Pelyn of all places. Maybe he's a pilgrim... but why would a pilgrim need such extensive protection? Questions, questions... this is tiring me out..._

Len started, and inwardly kicked himself.

_No, gotta snap out of this. Gotta focus on keeping watch and staying awake. Now, back to the hypotheses on the dictation of the Elfire chant..._

Even without doing Valega, the weary hours of travelling throughout the day and the battle that had taken place earlier began to take its toll on his heavy eyelids. Roughly two hours after attempting to continue reading, he was about to fall face-first into his book when his ears picked up the sound of rustling. Forcing himself awake, he looked blearily about him to see what had made the noise. Then he saw Marisa, assumedly returning from her sword practice, and without so much as a glance in his direction, she walked straight to the campfire to pick up her bedroll. As he watched, she deliberately positioned it in a way that she could sleep on her right side with her back resolutely turned away from him, then wordlessly lay down and remained still. Len sighed and got up, reckoning that it was about time for Sandro to take over his duty. He went over to the sandy-haired archer sleeping in his bedroll and shook him gently. 'Hey, Sandro,' he said. 'Wake up.'

'Ng... don't wanna...' Sandro whined, half asleep. Blinking at the rather unprofessional attitude that wasn't usually attributed to Gerik's mercenaries, Len nudged him again.

'Oi, you're on sentry duty, remember?' he reminded him. 'It's time for your shift.'

Sandro looked up at him with open eyelids, though the eyes behind them still looked like they were sleeping. 'Sentry duty...?'

Then the archer seemed to realise who he was talking to and attempted to get out of bed, stand to attention and salute at the same time, but only succeeded in tangling up his legs in his blanket as he stammered out, 'C-commander Len! I- I'm sorry! This won't happen again! I-I... please don't punish me!'

'Woah, shh, calm down,' Len said in hushed tones. 'If you wake the others, it's gonna take a lot more than just an apology to get them to forgive you after that murderous sprint to get here before nightfall.'

Sandro's face reddened. 'Oh, of course. My mistake.'

'Don't worry,' the mage said with a small laugh. 'And really, stop calling me 'commander'. I'm not anything of the sort, and it's sort of uncomfortable, you know?'

'B-but, the way you led us this morning,' he said insistently, 'That was why we won the battle. We'd have no idea that there were mogalls up in the mountains, or what to do when Kara came to ask for help. And we'd have no clue as to what to do with all those zombies –'

'Revenants,' he corrected absently.

'Yes, those,' Sandro said, nodding enthusiastically. 'See, you _are_ like our commander.'

'Are you kidding?' Len said amusedly. 'Look, the reason we won back there wasn't because of me. It was cos all you guys tried so hard and really pulled through. Knowing about all those monsters was just because I studied them, that's all. It's nothing special.'

He leant in closer. 'And you wanna know a secret? All those tactics I was spouting out, half of them were just common sense, the other half was taken off a board game I played back in Caer Pelyn.'

'A board game?' Sandro repeated in bewilderment.

'Ha, you see?' he said, laughing at the archer's amazement. 'I'm no commander. And this sure ain't the army. Sacrificing lives and honour and valour and all that – we leave that to the heroes, and just concentrate on staying alive while getting the job done, alright?'

'Yeah, I guess so,' the young archer said, his head drooping sadly. 'Sorry, I got a bit carried away. I guess I've still got a lot more to learn.'

Len patted his shoulder. 'Don't feel down – you ought to be proud of yourself. You did great today, and I'm sure that one day, you're going to be a top-class mercenary.'

Sandro looked up at him. 'Really? You honestly think so?'

'Yeah, sure,' the mage said with a laugh. 'Now, enough stalling – your sentry duty awaits.'

The sandy-haired youth nodded and picked up his bow and quiver, taking his position on the rock Len had been sitting on a few minutes before. Smiling at his conversation with the younger mercenary, Len flipped his bedroll over (he had noticed slightly distastefully that Sandro did indeed drool in his sleep) and was about to lie down when he saw a tuft of her crimson hair poking out of the edge of the blanket on the other side of the fire. On impulse, he got up from his bedside and walked over to her, wondering whether this was an altogether safe thing to do. He paused, now close enough to see the glint of the flames on her silver band she used to hold up her hair, to see the firelight play across the shadows on her sleeping face, and wondering what he should do now that he was nearly close enough to have his head lopped off by the sword which lay conveniently close to Marisa's hand. Not knowing what else to say, he simply said, 'Sorry, Marisa.'

Only when the mage had gone back to his bedroll on the far side of the camp and had pulled the sheets over his head did the swordmaster open her eyes.

***~-0-~***

'Everyone, form up! Two lines, melee units up front, support units behind! No, Sandro, you're a support unit! Fall behind, now!'

Len was barely able to arrange their small company into a formation before the first wave of monsters were upon them. The mage quickly launched a spell at the nearest group of enemies, but while the wind he summoned managed to cut them, they only slowed their advance. However, it was enough time for Marisa to leap forward and take out the heads of the first two skeletons that headed towards them. However, right behind them came two more, this time armed with bows. As they let fly, Len quickly summoned up a wind to blow them off-course, as Sandro shot an arrow of his own. It gouged into its target's skull, but its neck cracked back into place as it readied another arrow.

'These are wights,' he told Sandro as he looked on in dismay. 'They're much stronger than the bonewalkers you saw yesterday. It's going to take more than just a few arrows to take them down.'

'But... Marisa's just –'

Len looked over to where Marisa was cutting down every wight that came within range with cold precision, her movements seamless as foes fell one by one into the dust to join the growing pile of crumbling bones on the ground around her. He gave a slight grimace – he had learnt to fear the sword in the hands of the Crimson Flash.

'... I think we both understand that Marisa's a slight exception to that certain rule, for obvious reasons,' he said drily. 'Don't aim to kill, but to distract. Try to time your shots so that you hit them just before they move in to attack the melee line.'

Sandro nodded as he readied his bow. As Len prepared to release another spell, he wondered how on earth they had gotten into this situation. They had set off soon after dawn had broken, travelling quickly and reaching the Lagdou Ruins at around noon. But they had barely stepped close to its grey walls when from its corridors a huge mass of dark creatures had crawled out into the light, taking them completely by surprise. Had it not been for the quick reactions of Marisa and Salome, it was very likely that many of them would have sustained serious injuries before they were able to fall into formation.

Even as he had shouted the instructions to form two lines, Len was unable to comprehend how such a large number of monsters could have appeared. To his knowledge, Master Saleh was often at the ruins carrying out studies and keeping the monsters at bay. While he understood that it was impossible to single-handedly clear out the ruins of every single dark creature that dwelt within, he couldn't think of any reason as to why a sage as powerful as Master Saleh would be so lax to the point that such an escalation in the number of fiends was allowed to occur. At the same time, he refused to let the possibility that Master Saleh's life had been compromised enter his mind. Forcing his faith in the great sage to plough on, he continued to direct his companions around the crumbling walls of the ruins.

'Lady Salome, please leave the wights to Marisa,' he instructed. 'The range of their weapons puts you at a disadvantage. Rather, focus on the revenants and entombed. Kara, you stay away from the wights as well, some of them are carrying anti-cavalry weapons. Sandro, stay close to Kara, and Felix, back up Salome. Lucas, keep close behind me and hold onto the edge of my robes – you won't lose me that way. Stay strong, everyone - we just need to push through far enough to find Master Saleh.'

'Len! Behind you!' came Felix's urgent shout.

Len turned around to see that part of the wall had been collapsed, and out of the newly-made gap came with frightening speed a fresh group of wights, except this time accompanied by a huge, spider-like monster and two demon-like creatures that flew to attack their rear on hellish wings, baring cruel-looking lances. _Gargoyles and a bael..._ he realised with dismay. _We can't fight off an attack from two directions. This could get problematic. No, scratch that, this _is_ already a very, very messy problem._

'Sandro!' he shouted to the archer. 'Take out the right gargoyle, I'll take the other – aim for the wings, they're slower when they're on the ground.'

He completed the chant as quickly as possible, and released the wind attack at the leftmost gargoyle. As he had predicted, the spell quickly cut at the gargoyle's stone-grey wings, and with a screech, it plummeted to the ground. Its other airborne companion quickly followed as Sandro's arrows struck true, and as an added bonus, it fell into one of the wights, knocking it over. However, the other wight and the bael quickly covered the distance between them, and all of a sudden, the huge pincers of the monstrous arachnid were looming above him, and even as he summoned another spell, he knew that he would not be able to finish the chant in time –

There was a sudden, intense heat as the bael erupted into flame, its many legs writhing away from Len as its scream was engulfed by the blaze. The wight turned around to see where the attack had come from before it was also hit by a ball of fire which exploded in its face, and was soon reduced to a pile of ash and bone. As the burning subsided, Len was able to catch sight of their saviour walking towards them, a grave look on his face. '... I was under the impression you were not to venture into the ruins,' he said.

Out of the smoke stepped a man dressed in sweeping, light-green robes of the tasselled design characteristic of Caer Pelyn seamstresses, his deep emerald gaze calmly observing the scene with a wise, discerning eye. Len could not keep the joy and relief out of his face as he recognised the lilac-haired sage. 'Master Saleh! You're safe!'

With a slightly bemused look, Saleh nodded. '... Yes, though I still cannot fathom what reason brings you here. I've told you multiple times that these ruins are dangerous and that you must not go in under any circumstances – why have you deliberately ignored by instructions?'

Flinching instinctively at the senior sage's severe expression, Len explained, 'Master Saleh, I wouldn't ignore anything you say, you know I wouldn't. But the Elder herself sent me here on a mission, to deliver a message.'

Saleh's frown deepened. '... A message?'

'Yes, from Myrrh – I mean, the Great Dragon,' he said, quickly correcting himself.

'From the Lord Dragon herself...?' the sage's eyebrows rose.

He seemed to contemplate on Len's words for a moment, his eyes drawn to the wall that stood beside them. Finally, he looked back up to him.

'Very well. I forgive you for going against my orders. However –'

'Hey, Len! If you're finished back there, we could do with a bit of help over here!' Felix shouted from further up the line as he tried to fend off the blows of another wight swinging its curved sword at the myrmidon repeatedly. Saleh looked past Len, taking proper note of the presence of his company for the first time.

'And who are your companions?' he asked.

'Some of Gerik's mercenaries who came to help us,' Len explained. 'And uh... a couple of other people who we met on the way. It's sort of complicated.'

'... I see,' Saleh said, though Len wasn't entirely sure if he did. 'Then I will aid you. Though it might be impossible to enter the ruins as of now, we must defeat all the monsters at the entrance if we are to buy enough time to escape.'

'Thanks a lot, Master Saleh,' Len said with a relieved sigh. 'Things should be a whole lot easier now you're here.'

The edge of Saleh's mouth moved, and Len could have sworn that he saw a hint of a smile before the serious light returned to his eyes as he opened his tome to cast another spell.

With Saleh's powerful magic at their disposal, the battle began to turn in their favour. Due to dead flesh having the useful feature of being helpfully flammable, Saleh's fire spells quickly disposed of the revenants while the remainder of the creatures were struck down by the mountain sage's summoned lightning. With Saleh methodically obliterating the ranks of monsters that poured out of the ruins and Marisa with her usual lethal consistency in delivering one-hit kills, the group was able to push back the swarming monsters back into the centre of the ruins. However, their seemingly inexhaustible numbers continued to throw themselves at their weapons, and Len knew that if it continued much longer, their fatigue would soon become fatal. Saleh had been right – to attempt to brave the ruins alone would be suicide. Looking around desperately through his sweat-slicked mauve hair, Len searched for a way in which they could somehow stop or even stem the never-ending waves of fiends that threatened to overwhelm them.

There was a cry from his right as Felix took a hit from the slash of a wight's blade, and clutched his wound painfully as he weakly blocked the monster's successive swing. Len prepared to chant a spell to distract the wight, but Salome got there first, and with two quick slashes of her daggers, she took out its bony arms, and with a powerful kick, smashed it to the ground. Kara rode over to the fallen myrmidon and raised her healing staff, a blue light bathing Felix's body as the wound closed. Len breathed a sigh of relief as Felix's breathing became steadier. It had been a close call – one that they couldn't afford to keep having. They needed to escape.

_The main problem is that the area we're fighting in right now is too wide, _he thought anxiously._ Attacks could come from any direction, and we're being surrounded way too fast. We need to retreat back into the corridor, but then they'll attack from the rear and rout us. Somehow, I need to work how we're going to keep them back long enough for us to get out of here. Come on, come on... think, you idiot, think –_

At that moment, Len caught sight of the nearby shrubbery and the vines that crawled over the stone walls. As he looked at Saleh conjuring more plumes of flame to consume the incoming enemies, an idea formed in his head.

'Master Saleh!' he called. 'Set fire to the bushes!'

The sage gave him a baffled look. 'Why would you –'

'Trust me, I've got an idea,' he assured him as he opened his Alacalibur tome.

Although he still looked confused, the sage acquiesced and released a huge ball of flame that landed among the dry vegetation, which quickly set alight. Len looked behind him, where Lucas readied his flute. Nodding to him, he gestured to the rest of the company, shouting, 'Everyone, stand back!'

Feeling Lucas' mystical melody rejuvenating his senses once more, he prepared to cast his spell, feeling the summoned gale whip up around him, empowered by the refreshing song of the bard's flute. Raising his hand, he quickly finished his chant and directed the gust at the bonfire. Fanned by the magical wind, the enchanted fire of Saleh's spell burst into an inferno that leapt up into the sky. The vines also caught fire, and soon, there was a pillar of flame blazing between them and the monster horde. Unearthly cries came from the other side of the conflagration as some of the more enthusiastic attackers ventured into the burning wall and perished.

'Come on, we've got to run – the wind keeping the fire alight isn't going to stay for much longer!' Len shouted.

No-one needed telling twice as they all obediently turned and fled, not wanting waste the chance that Len's gambit had given them. As they ran, each with the unwavering desire to put as much distance between themselves and the cursed ruins, their minds and senses were harried by the screams of creatures not intended by nature to dwell on this earth, which they had been fighting only moments earlier.

***~-0-~***

They had decided to take shelter close to the woods and set up camp to tend to their wounds before planning their next course of action. There were few who had escaped the battle unscathed, and Felix in particular had received a rather painful-looking gash on his side and three ragged scratches were torn through his sleeve where a revenant had managed to get close enough to strike him with its claws. Len himself had received a cut on his forehead, which he now dabbed with the liquid from a vulnerary bottle before quaffing the remainder of the medicinal mixture to ease some of the pain in his side, where the backswing of a lance butt had caught him while trying to take out a gargoyle. He grimaced at the bitter flavour, washing it down with a gulp of water from his water-skin. Looking around at the camp, he watched Kara and Saleh as they treated the more seriously wounded with their staves, bandaging up their injuries, while those who had escaped with minor cuts and bruises treated themselves with healing salves. After finishing binding Salome's arm, Kara moved to treat Sandro's shoulder, despite his insistent protestations that it was fine.

'Please, Lady Kara, all this fuss just for a scratch is really –'

'No,' she said firmly. 'You received that wound when you were trying to protect my horse from those monsters. If you had not defended me so tenaciously throughout our battle, Alruna could have been gravely injured. I am not so ungrateful that I allow my saviour to suffer for my sake.'

Blushing profusely, the helpless archer stammered, 'L-look, milady, I'm just a mercenary. I was simply doing what Commander Len instructed me to do –'

_I said just 'Len' would be fine..._ he thought exasperatedly.

' – so there's no need for you be so – ack! L-Lady Kara! W-what are you trying to do with my shirt...?'

Len barely stifled his laughter at the hapless Sandro's attempts to keep the troubadour from tearing open his tunic to have a better look at his shoulder, but as he saw Saleh walk towards him, he sat up straighter, detecting a scolding in order.

'That was a very dangerous thing you did,' the sage said – not angrily, but the reproach was evident in his voice. 'Your control over the spell was not secure – had it gone awry, we could have many more injured here.'

'I'm sorry, Master Saleh,' Len said meekly. 'I was... I just wanted to get everybody out of there real quick, you know? But yes, you're right, it was risky, and I was reckless,' he added at Saleh's silent gaze.

The lilac-haired sage sighed, and sat down next to him. 'Your intentions were admirable, but your methods could have been wiser,' he said. 'Magic is not a toy to play with, neither is it a force to dominate – it's a relationship with nature that's built on understanding and empathy. It is ill-advised to try magic in ways you do not comprehend, particularly in such a place as a battlefield.'

Len nodded, wincing a little at Saleh's admonishment. 'I promise I'll be more cautious in the future, Master Saleh,' he assured him.

Saleh raised one eyebrow. 'I recall another student saying almost exactly the same to me some years back,' he remarked. 'He never stuck true to his word. Well... youths will be youths, I suppose. Perhaps it is the fate of all teachers to be aggrieved by those under their tutelage...'

Aware that he was staring out into the distance, the sage caught himself and cleared his throat before asking, 'Now, what was this message that the Great Dragon had for me that was considered so urgent that she was compelled to send you to Lagdou Ruins?'

Remembering the whole reason why he was here, Len straightened up. 'Oh! Yes, right. The message was this – "The Great Dragon senses a shadow in the west, similar to the darkness four years ago during the War of the Stones".'

At this, Saleh's features grew dark. '... A shadow in the west? Could she mean... the Fire Emblem?'

Len frowned at the change in the sage's expression. 'Master Saleh?'

Saleh returned his gaze, but the concern in his eyes did not shift as he said, 'Thank you for delivering this message. You should return to Caer Pelyn as soon as possible to inform the Elder that I have received the news and am heading west to investigate.'

'Uh, pardon me, Master Saleh,' Len ventured uncertainly, 'But the Elder instructed me to accompany you in your mission, to assist in whatever way I could.'

Saleh's eyes widened slightly, as if not entirely sure why Dara would request such a thing. However, he nodded. 'If that is what the Elder requests, then I will not argue. However, this mission could become rather... complex. My instructions to you must now be adhered to more than ever – you are not to take risks, nor are you to willingly place yourself in danger. The consequences of breaking either of these rules in our current situation may be more severe than a simple spell gone astray.'

'Right,' Len acknowledged. 'Where are we going then, Master Saleh?'

'The Fire Emblem rests in Renais,' Saleh said. 'Once called the Stone of Rausten, it was the last of the original five Sacred Stones after the others were shattered by the Demon King over the course of the War of the Stones. It is the stone within which the soul of that dark entity resides, sealed within it in the final battle at Darkling Woods four years ago.'

'Was that the battle that you and Myrrh fought against the Demon King?' Len asked.

'Yes,' he confirmed, his brows still furrowed into that same troubled frown. 'Lady Myrrh and I, with the rest of our brave companions from all over Magvel, led by King Ephraim himself – we defeated the Demon King's body, ensuring he could never return. It was decided after the war that the stone within which his twisted soul was imprisoned should be taken to Renais, where the shrine there was protected with a seal greater than that of any other nation.

'The seal has held for four years,' Saleh went on as he looked out at the road they had just travelled, and Len couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking about something he had seen in the ruins. 'The darkness has been held at bay, but now we hear that the same evil that overturned all of Magvel is now being sensed in the west... it is a possibility we cannot overlook under any circumstances. Therefore, we'll travel to Renais and meet with King Ephraim and Princess Eirika to ensure that the dark influence of the Fire Emblem has been kept in check.'

Len took this in with a silent pensiveness. 'You say that the seal has "held" for the past four years,' he pointed out after a while. 'Does that mean that it's not permanent? Over time, will the seal break?'

Saleh looked surprised. '... You're quite perceptive,' he noted. 'Yes, the seal has kept that ancient evil at bay over the last few years. The Sacred Stone holds enormous power, one that can hold even the overwhelming energies of the Demon King itself. My knowledge of the dark arts does not go far enough for me to understand the details, but in the Black Temple, I felt the Demon King's incredible... presence. It was an aura of unspeakable evil. While I'm not one to underestimate the power of a Sacred Stone, I felt back then that this was a creature that would not be caged by a talisman wielded by man.

'The Sacred Stone may retain the soul of the Demon King still,' Saleh continued. 'Perhaps this darkness which the Great Dragon perceived is something other than the Fire Emblem. But it's a risk that we cannot afford to take. That is why we're going to Renais.'

Len contemplated the sage's words for a while, letting the information sink in. 'Renais... then maybe we should stop by at Jehanna Hall,' said the mage thoughtfully. 'We can restock supplies there, and maybe we can ask about the state of affairs in Renais. If we're lucky, Gerik may have some information that might help us figure out the reason for the dark energy that Myrrh felt.'

The sage nodded. 'You may be right. But it's getting late. We should rest now, and we'll begin our journey to the Hall at first light. The days are growing longer, and we should take advantage of the time we have before the desert heat intensifies.'

Len nodded as Saleh got up to join the rest of the company closer to the newly made fire. Before he left, Len called out to him, 'Master Saleh?'

The mountain sage turned around to regard him with his viridian eyes, and Len couldn't help but feel that familiar sense of security and respect he had always felt back at Caer Pelyn every time he had caught sight his calm visage. So it was with honest relief that he said:

'I'm glad you're with us, Master Saleh.'

* * *

**Author's Note:** And thus Saleh enters the fray! I really like Saleh, though he came across as a little stand-offish and purely intellectual, but his supports with Gerik sort of give me the impression of an awkward, over-formal sort of guy whose lack of knowledge concerning most things outside of magic and Caer Pelyn's lore is kind of endearing. And I finally have a character who can geek out to the same level as Len, as well as a teacher/mentor/senior figure, which I think this fic was missing until now. But please say what you think so I can improve my characterisation of Saleh and any other holes in the story - those reviews are much needed! :)


	6. VI : Advent of Destiny

**Author's note:** This one took a bit of time, as it kept on getting longer and longer, in the way chapters do :) I had to a spot of research in order to try to portray some of the Jehannan architecture here. From the discussions at the magvel comm at LJ, I looked up the Middle East for inspiration. I also watched the Disney movie 'Prince of Persia', which I thought was a decent parallel for Jehanna - I mean, Joshua and Ismaire and the other Jehannans aren't particularly tanned, and the movie had a bunch of Caucasian dudes in a Persian backdrop, so it was a useful image to have in my head. The Joshua depicted here is one who has been King for four years, while also dealing with the illness of his wife, so he's not entirely the same roguish myrmidon he was in FE8. But hopefully, it doesn't stray too far into the region of generic king and he's still recognisable. It might be a bit of a wait till the next chapter, as I need to finish penning out the rest of the story properly before tackling the next arc. So an extra-long chapter to make up for that - please read and review!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Fire Emblem.

* * *

**CHAPTER VI**

– _**Advent of Destiny –**_

* * *

When they arrived at Jehanna Hall, the company was met by Gerik, who greeted them with his characteristic enthusiasm. While he noted with merely a raised eyebrow at the presence of a Rausten troubadour in their midst, he said nothing – although less could be said of his reaction seeing Saleh standing beside Len.

'Saleh!' he said, clasping a hand on his shoulder. 'I haven't seen you for ages! Well, well... looks like you managed to get out in one piece.'

'Of course,' Saleh said with a smile. 'Who would I be to fall short of your expectations?'

'Somebody who'd have a very ticked off mercenary after them for dying without paying off that debt of mutton stew, that's for sure,' Gerik laughed. 'You guys look totally beat. Desert sun not agree with you, eh? Well, stop standing out there in it and come inside – all of you look like you could do with some decent food.'

Saleh smiled as he led them inside the palace. 'It seems you're doing well,' he observed. 'Incidentally, how does King Joshua fare?'

At this, the rest of the company's faces became uncomfortable, as they all looked to Gerik. Rubbing the back of his neck, the mercenary sighed. 'Well... maybe it's better if you just see for yourselves,' he said finally. 'He'll meet you all in the throne room shortly.'

'The king's going to see us personally?' Len said in surprise. 'But does that mean... surely the Queen's not –'

'No, she's still alive,' Gerik assured him, but the grimness in his voice did not inspire optimism. 'But she's close – the royal healers say that we could lose her any day now. All we can do is pray.'

The solemn silence that followed was broken by the clear, even voice of the blind bard Lucas. 'What symptoms does her Royal Highness show?' he asked.

The green-haired mercenary was understandably thrown by the sudden question by the usually quiet boy. 'Erm... well, I'm no healer, but I've heard that her face is pale as bone and her eyes sunken. She cannot eat or drink without aid of another – but the strangest thing is her dreams.'

'Dreams?' Saleh said with a frown.

'Yes,' Gerik said darkly. 'Her sleep is fitful and she is said to whimper and shudder while she dreams, yet she never wakes. From what I've managed to ascertain from one of the queen's personal maids, it's almost like a constant nightmare from which she cannot be roused.'

'… I wonder what it could be?' Len said with a frown. 'It certainly doesn't sound like any illness I've heard.'

'That's the hardest part,' the mercenary replied. 'Because the nature of the illness is so strange, there are rumours abound that it's the work of the gods – don't get me wrong, the Queen's well-loved by the people, and for good reason, but some of the dusty old reliquaries in this place are saying that it's because of the Queen's blasphemy against the traditional deities. The fact that she's from Grado doesn't really help the matter either.'

'What?' the mage said in an outraged voice. 'How can they say that? The Queen's always respected the culture of Jehanna even though she retains her faith. And she worked so hard to ease the suffering of all Jehannans during the reconstruction – have they forgotten their gratitude already?'

'I know, I know, they're just a bunch of old fools,' Gerik agreed. 'But the whispers are still there, and they're hardly doing much to ease Joshua's mind. This disease is something beyond the palace healers, and these fitful dreams aren't like anything we've seen.'

His frown grew puzzled as he turned back to the bard. 'But why do you ask?'

The bard did not answer at first, but after a short period of what appeared to be deep contemplation, he spoke, '... If I may, would it be possible to request a moment with her Majesty?'

The royal guildmaster' expression became understandably taken aback at the forwardness of Lucas' request, but he managed to pull his wits about him to get together a reply. 'Well... aren't you a bard?' he said, not able to entirely keep the bafflement out of his voice. 'Now, I'm not one to say that I don't enjoy a little tune here and there as much as the next man, but... well, no matter how good you may be, there's a time and a place for these kind of things, surely?'

'Forgive me, Master Gerik, but it's not a simple ditty which I intend to play for her Highness,' Lucas said with a smile. 'You're right in saying that I am a bard. However, I'm also a traveller, and in my travels, I've been fortunate enough to learn some of the holy rites in my travels. I may, at the very least, be able to ease her passing.'

Gerik ran a hand through his hair, and it seemed to Len that he had never seen the usually energetic mercenary leader look so weary. Maybe that talk of retirement hadn't really been in jest after all. When he spoke again, the same tiredness rang through his voice. 'Well, I'm afraid I'm not in a position to allow that, unfortunately, Master... er, Lucas, wasn't it? I might be the king's personal guildmaster, but I don't have the jurisdiction to grant royal audiences – I just get to disallow them. But you'll be meeting with King Joshua himself soon – maybe you can ask him yourself. I don't think he'll turn down anything right now if it would help his wife even a little.'

As Gerik opened a set of wide double-doors, they found themselves in a long corridor lined with alabaster pillars, the sun shining through the garden past the carved arches of the hallway. Beyond the assortment of cascading vines and the newly-opened pomegranate blossoms that cast its sweet scent into the early summer air, the throne room was just barely visible through the vibrant greenery; Len thought that he could make out the outline of a slumped figure on the throne through the twisting design of the screens that surrounded the main chamber. Before he could get a proper glimpse however, they had turned the corner, and Gerik motioned them to stop.

'I'll go in and tell him you're here,' he said. 'Now, remember why he's seeing you – it's not because of the job, it's because he's trying to take his mind off his wife's impending death. So... whatever you say, request or no, keep that in mind,' he added with a slight nod in Lucas' direction. The bard nodded to show that he understood.

Turning on his heel, he went into the throne room alone, and as soon as he had vanished inside, Len heard Felix and Sandro begin talking in hushed tones.

'Do you reckon we should actually be here?' he heard Sandro say.

'The Commander didn't tell us to leave, so we're fine,' came Felix's reply. 'Stop being so jittery, this is the _king_ we're about to see here.'

'That's the whole point,' the archer retorted with a slight squeak. 'What're we doing in the presence of the King of Jehanna himself? I mean, what am I dressed in?'

'Could you stop behaving like a five-year-old girl?' his friend hissed back. 'Man, you were like this from the first day of being recruited! I mean, seriously, could you be more pathetic? Get your act together – it won't matter what you're wearing if you lose control of your bowels at an inopportune moment.'

Sandro didn't have time to come up with a retort as Gerik stepped out into view and said, 'Alright – he'll see you now. You two stay here with the rest of the company; just Saleh, Len and Master Lucas,' he added to Sandro and Felix, who both gave mixed signs of disappointment and relief.

'Forgive me, Master Gerik,' came the quiet voice of Salome. 'But I believe that we have another who requires a rather urgent message for the king.'

'I'm really sorry, but can't it wait?' Gerik asked.

'This girl travelled across the border from Rausten pursued by both her countrymen and the dark creatures at the Narube River to deliver this message to King Joshua personally,' the ivory-haired assassin replied calmly, gesturing to Kara. 'I think that the gravity of these circumstances might indicate that it would be unwise to overlook it.'

The mercenary eventually nodded after contemplating it. 'Okay. You and the troubadour can come too. Now follow me.'

As he stepped through the soaring marble archway, he could not help but stand in awe of the majestic dignity of the throne room – he had not been inside the throne room since its reconstruction, and that had only been once, while the final touches were still being made. But now, there was not a single block of stone out of place. Joshua had commissioned some of the best stonemasons in Jehanna to aid in its construction, and had also brought architects and historians from Rausten to overlook the whole process so that they could make it as structurally similar to the original as possible. He had even brought in the finest local artisans and craftsmen to create much of the beautiful tapestries and adornments of precious metal and jewels. It was truly a representation of his reign – a nation that shared new bonds of friendship with its allies, yet retained the historic and cultural legacy which ensured that it remained a true Jehanna.

Len's eyes drifted across the engraved walls, where silken sheets of saffron, crimson and lilac were draped gracefully over the windows to curtain the shafts of sunlight that crept through the gaps in the intricately-carved tracery. A rich, carmine rug was now laid over the ivory-coloured tiles in place of the original purple carpet, wherein curling, knotting patterns were woven elegantly into the fabric with such beautiful intricacy that Len almost walked onto it with his sand-encrusted boots in his fascination with its convoluted artistry before remembering that one had to be invited onto the carpet by the crown before stepping onto it. With the opaque, fiery curtains and the warm light of the gentle afternoon sun spilling into the room, the whole chamber seemed aglow with a vermilion radiance. The cushions on the throne had also been replaced by those of the same red shade, and a white, dome-shaped canopy lined by dozens of silvery tassels was suspended over the head of the man seated on the royal throne of Jehanna.

Joshua, the ruler of the mighty desert nation of Jehanna, the man known as the Tempest King. His subjects had come to treat this name with great affection and respect, while his enemies had quickly learnt to fear it. His ferocity in battle and peerless skill with the blade had spread far and wide, but his kindly and somewhat roguish nature had made him a favourite among the people. But the figure standing before them now, his head bowed with a weariness of unimaginable weight and his usually striking red hair lank and unkempt, was a completely different man from the Tempest King of songs and tales – it was simply Joshua, a man who was close to losing his wife, and it was visibly unravelling him.

As they stopped in their tracks at the edge of the carpet, King Joshua looked up, and Len saw his eyes; sunken and drained, his characteristic deep scarlet gaze often alight with good humour and mischief faded like the ember of what had once been a lively flame, and even as his face tried to lift itself into what it intended to be an attempt at a smile, the greyness that remained a cold contrast to the fiery glow of the throne room persisted in his stare. He tore his eyes away from that ravaged face as he bowed, noticing Saleh, Gerik and Lucas do the same.

'So these are the men who drove away the monsters from the river,' he said in a pale impression of pleasantry. 'You have my thanks. Feel free to rest in the palace for the night – if you need anything, I'll inform the servants so they can attend to you.'

Len bowed, and after a moment of silence, Gerik cleared his throat, discreetly prompting Len to say something. The young mage floundered helplessly until he said for lack of anything better to say, 'You are most generous, my King.'

_... Three years spent up on a mountain studying and this is the best you could come up with?_ he berated himself. _People could have thought up better things to say in their sleep._

The king's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he regarded Len's face. 'Hm... your face looks familiar. Wait... you were one of the court mages who accompanied the delegation party to Carcino. It was... Len, wasn't it?'

'That's right, my lord,' Len replied, impressed that even in his sleepless state he could recognise him after such a long time. 'I've been continuing my studies at Caer Pelyn, where I moved to three years ago at your consent.'

'Right, your father was one of the generals guarding Jehanna Hall during the war,' he remembered with a nod. 'I never had the honour of knowing him personally, but I heard he was an exceptional swordsman and well-loved by the citizens. I'm glad that you're following his footsteps in serving the people of Jehanna with the same dedication as he did.'

'T-Thank you, my lord,' Len stammered, not quite sure what to do with such praise – his memory of the etiquette lessons he had been forced through as a child was hazy, and his long-time experience of resolute equality in Caer Pelyn didn't help. At that moment, he caught Salome's eye and he remembered Kara's message.

'If I may, my lord,' he said, his head still down, 'We bring a messenger from Rausten, bringing urgent news from the north.'

'From Rausten?' King Joshua repeated with a frown. 'What messenger?'

Salome pushed Kara forward, and the green-haired young troubadour looked as if her knees would give way any minute, but she attempted to keep her back straight as she stammered, 'F-Forgive me, your Majesty – I am a troubadour of the Holy Order of Rausten, and I-I come bearing news from my home country.'

'… But a messenger from the Rausten Court came by only two days ago,' he said. 'What could have changed in such a short time that they felt they needed to send another?'

'I-It is not from the Rausten Court, but rather from an individual from w-within the Order,' Kara explained, trying to keep her voice from shaking. 'It is a warning that she requests be sent to all the countries of Magvel.'

The frown on King Joshua's face grew deeper. 'Alright... what is the message?' he inquired.

Taking a deep breath, Kara spoke, 'The message is this: "The theocracy of Rausten has declared a sacred war against the remnants of the Demon King's servants throughout Magvel. Rausten will move to purge the surface of the continent of every last fiend and demon at the behest of the heavens. All who stand in the way of the righteous shall be smitten by divine justice. The Holy Crusade has begun".'

A silence met the news as Len rapidly tried to gather his thoughts. _A crusade? Against the monsters of the Demon King?_ Every single one? _I knew the religious old coots up north had some weird ideas, but a continental war is insane even for them! Has the whole world gone to pot? _

Len felt foolish even considering the possibilities of such an idea. The dark creatures were everywhere, spread all throughout the continent. Even if such a tremendous task was even marginally feasible, there was the whole political insinuations of such a campaign. It would be impossible for Rausten to breach the borders of other nations with an entire army in tow, especially for such an inconceivable reason. Len couldn't think of any way such a thing would be achievable short of an unofficial invasion. The nations were still working to rebuild, Renais and Grado in particular. It was an act of unimaginable irresponsibility for Rausten to instigate a conflict on such a huge scale, even if it was against their common enemy.

In the silence that followed, King Joshua's expression became deeply troubled. 'I can't decide whether to denounce you as a liar or to declare myself finally crazy,' he said eventually. 'There's no reason that I can think of that Rausten would launch such an absurd campaign. But then again, our spies have indeed been sending us disturbing news from Rausten – evidence of heavy rearmament and recruitment have been coming in for several months now. If what you say is true and this is the true purpose of Rausten's militarisation... then this is heavy news indeed.'

He massaged his temples, apparently in deep thought. 'I'll speak to my advisors on this subject,' he sighed finally. 'Maybe I ought to call together my war council as well... incidentally, who was it that sent you to deliver this message?'

Kara lowered her head, half out of respect, and half so that she wouldn't have to look King Joshua in the eye. 'P-Pardon me, my lord... to deliver the message was a mission of utmost urgency given to me in secret by her Holiness the princess of Rausten, the Lady L'Arachel.'

'L'Arachel?' he said with a hint of surprise.

'Wasn't she having problems with the succession a few months back?' Gerik asked.

'Yes, of members of the peerage proving to be not quite as receptive as hoped to the idea of L'Arachel being named as the successor to the sovereignty,' the king nodded. 'Saint Latona could very well be the last woman who ever sat upon the throne of Rausten. I was wondering why the message sounded more like a threat than a warning – trust L'Arachel to be dramatic even in the direst tidings... in any case, it looks like I have to deal with this quickly. Is there anything else that requires my attention?'

Bowing lower, Len spoke up, 'Forgive me, your Majesty, but I was wondering if you would possibly favour me with a request.'

The red-haired king nodded. 'What might it be?'

Remembering Gerik's warning, he went on carefully, 'If you would, your Majesty, one of my companions here is a well-travelled bard of some skill, knowledgeable in all manner of holy rites. He humbly begs a brief moment with her Highness Queen Natasha, in order that he may pray for her in her... current time of need.'

Expecting the king's expression to darken, he was taken aback when his face instead fell into a look of such indescribable sorrow that Len could not help but wish that he somehow knew a way to cure the Queen of her illness than merely ease the pain of the inevitable death as Lucas intended to do. When King Joshua finally opened his lips, his voice was layered with a tone of utmost exhaustion. '… I'm grateful for the thoughtfulness of your offer. But there's nothing that can be done. Gods or deities, they do not listen to the prayers of mortal men.'

'Do not think so, your Majesty,' the clear voice of the blind bard came from behind Len. 'The heavens work in ways that men often do not understand. Please allow me to see your Queen – there may yet be prayers unsaid that the blessed light have not received.'

The ruler of Jehanna looked for a long time at the boy clad in blue – almost as if he was trying to pierce the blindfold with the intensity of his scrutiny and gaze into the eyes obscured behind the cloth. But after studying his face for a full minute, he gave a sigh. 'Alright. I may as well put down one final gamble. It's been a while since I last put down a wager – if there's a chance that my wife's passing could be eased by your prayers, then it's a bet I'll be willing to take no matter what the odds.'

Lucas nodded. 'Thank you, my lord.'

As he rose, the king gave another look at Lucas' seemingly-sightless visage, and said, almost to himself, 'That unshakeable faith... for some reason, it reminds me of a moment four years ago – when a beautiful cleric looked at a common mercenary and saw something different...'

King Joshua led them to the Queen's bedchamber himself, a route which Len was certain that the monarch had become familiar with over the course of his frequent visits to that same room in the past few weeks. When he pushed the door open, Len felt a slight twinge on the edge of his mind, as if there was something which his senses thought was repulsive, although he could not put his finger on what it was. Trying to shake the feeling of foreboding, he stepped into the room after the king.

The room was lit by a mixture of candlelight and sun, not entirely breaking through the airless feel of the chamber. Similarly, the musky smell of incense that drifted up to the ceiling failed to completely stifle the sense of unwholesomeness which hung among the silken canopies and scented candles. The curtains looked as if they had recently been wrenched open, almost like someone had decided that preventing the sunlight no longer mattered and had torn away the drapery. However, Len barely registered this as his eyes were drawn to the slender figure that occupied the bed. A woman of slight stature, the Queen's hair sprawled about the cushion on which her head rested like a deathly halo, lifeless and limp. Her expression was far from peaceful – even through her sleep, her ghostly features were twisted in pain and her breaths was quick and brief. Her pale nightgown was damp with the sweat from her restless dreams and the maid beside her had a helpless expression as she continued to wipe the perspiration from her Queen's head with a wet cloth.

Len had only met the Queen once before, but the impression it had made on him had been deep enough to make it memorable. It had been at the royal marriage of King Joshua and his bride, the Lady Natasha, which he had attended as a representative of his father's house. He recalled an elegant young woman dressed in the floating white wedding robes of finest Jehannan design, with numerous flowers and beads of crystal woven into her golden tresses. If he had not been stirred by the beauty of the king's new bride, the kindly, gracious manner in which she had personally thanked him for his wedding gift before laughing in response to his attempts at an eloquent reply – a sound both lively and flustered, as if she was not entirely sure if she should be giggling in a public setting. From that moment, he had gained a fierce fondness for his new queen, a woman who would take the effort to express her appreciation to a lowly young courtier in person with genuine gratitude, and once again, he felt a great despondency come over him as he saw his sovereign lady wracked by such affliction.

The maid stood up at their entrance, and King Joshua motioned to her to leave the chamber. As the maid left, he gestured to Lucas to go ahead, not quite being able to draw his eyes away from his wife's bedridden form. Len tapped the bard's shoulder to let him know that the king had given him permission to commence the rites, but he did not expect him to turn and face him and whisper in a volume only he could hear, 'Please, if you could... restrain King Joshua from interrupting, no matter what happens. Trust me – if all goes well, the Queen will live.'

Len did not have time to protest as Lucas turned away and walked to the Queen's bedside. He seemed to regard her sadly for a moment, and then he stretched his hands above her body. Initially, nothing appeared to happen, but then the Queen's body arched suddenly, and Len thought he saw a shadow spill from her gown, whether it be through a trick of the candlelight or the wracking movements of the Queen's body thrown into relief by the sunlight. The mage was momentarily frozen in shock at what was happening, but then remembered the bard's words and moved to the king, who was about to leap on the boy and tear the life from his body.

'I'm sorry, your Majesty,' he said quickly as he seized his arms and hung on for dear life as King Joshua fought to get close enough to wrap his hands around Lucas' throat.

'What in the gods' name do you think you're doing?' he roared at the bard as Len attempted to keep him away from the bedside. Had the king not been deprived of food and rest for the past fortnight, Len would not have stood a chance – even now, he felt like his limbs were about to be ripped away as he fought against the raging, struggling monarch.

'Guys, a little help here... !' Len said to the others as he wrestled with the monarch, just as one of his arms wrested free and an elbow struck him straight between the eyes. He felt his grip loosen as his vision gave way to darkness, and just before he fell into oblivion, he thought he saw what looked like the Queen's body fall back onto the bed as the bard lowered his hands.

*~-0-~*

'Is he dead?'

'No, he's just unconscious. But if he was, that'd be a funny way to go.'

'Shut up, Felix. Wait – look, he's coming to.'

Len's eyes opened dazedly, and registered a rather painful bruise on forehead as he attempted to make sense of his current state of being. He managed to acknowledge the fact that he had been unconscious, and was now very vaguely conscious (but only just). It took a while for his mind to connect with what his eyes were seeing as he groggily gazed about the room.

A girl with fern-green hair was applying a poultice to his head injury, which after a while, he finally recognised as the troubadour Kara. He appeared to be lying down on a bed, judging by the fact that he had to strain his neck in order to look around, and was surrounded by a variety of people which his disoriented mind endeavoured to identify. He made out the figure of Felix leaning against the wall, and Sandro at the foot of the bed. Saleh stood behind the archer with a concerned expression and Lucas and Salome were standing next to Kara on his left side. Marisa was nowhere to be seen.

Turning to look at the other side of his bed, he was surprised to see Gerik with King Joshua sitting beside him. At the sight of the red-haired king, the memory of what had just happened came flying back. He struggled to sit up straighter, to the distress of Kara, who hadn't finished with the ointment. 'Your Majesty! I-I er... I'm truly sorry for my actions, I uhh... I had no intention of disrespecting your Highness by umm... well, grabbing onto you, I guess... no, I mean –'

The king held up a hand to stop him in mid-ramble, and looked at him with a smile. 'Sorry? Whatever for? After all, it's all thanks to you that my wife is well again.'

Len took a few seconds to let this piece of information sink in. 'The Queen is well?' he asked in disbelief.

'She has recently regained consciousness and is currently having a late lunch,' Lucas said to him. 'She is still very weak, but a little more rest and recuperation should put her well on the way to a full recovery.'

'Oh... that's great news,' Len said, his body slumping in relief. 'So I didn't get knocked out for nothing.'

King Joshua gave a rich laugh, a sound filled with the joy of being able to smile again. 'Yes, I guess you didn't,' he said, grasping his arm in gratitude. 'Rather, it's I who should be apologising to you. If you hadn't held me back, who knows what I damage might've done – if anything, I could have interrupted our young bard during his healing and Natasha might still be afflicted with that gods-forsaken disease. No, my eternal gratitude goes out to you – to you and your miraculous young companion.'

'P-Please, your Majesty,' the mage said, getting more flustered by the minute. 'I'm just a court mage, and you're the king. If you keep on in this manner, I may very well end up at a loss as to what to do –'

He laughed again, but this time, he seized the poor mage and clasped him tightly. 'What you say might be true, but even a king can show gratitude to the man who helped save the life of his beloved. To that end, I've prepared a reward of sorts for you. It's a poor repayment for such a deed, but having heard about the purpose of your journey from Gerik and Saleh here, I thought this would be appropriate.'

'W-Well, uhh...' Len stammered, trying to get over the shock of being embraced by the king himself. 'I er... l-live to serve, I guess...'

He tried to ignore Saleh covering his face with one hand, as well as Felix trying to stifle his laughter in the corner as King Joshua went on, 'From what I gather, you're travelling to Renais to check on the Fire Emblem, and to locate the source of dark energy coming from the west. I can only guess how important this mission is, especially since it's only been four years since the end of the last war – together with the news from Rausten, it looks as if something's astir in Magvel again. I'm afraid I can't go gallivanting around the continent as I used to; I have to attend to the affairs of my people, and to take care of Natasha. But what I can do is make it easier for someone else to do the gallivanting instead.'

He motioned to Gerik, who handed him a scroll of parchment which had been lying on the windowsill. The king gave it to Len, who noted that the waxen seal on it was imprinted with the royal crest. He undid the seal and unrolled the scroll, blinking a little to get used to the small, elaborate text.

_Barely a few moments after I've been knocked silly and they're getting me to read these tiny things? Ugh, it's like being back at school... hold on. What is this...?_

It was an official document of some sorts, concerning something got to do with the border control, travelling permits, and a vague line about the prohibition of illegal weapons smuggling using the individuals in the mercenary group –

Len paused, and allowed himself a few seconds to re-read that sentence. 'Wait a minute... this is...'

'That document is a license for the formation of a mercenary group,' Gerik explained. 'To be more specific, _your_ mercenary group. This charter gives you full legal rights to the maintenance of an official guild of mercenary troops with the Jehannan monarch as your primary contractor – which means that while you're not strictly bound to work for the throne alone, it means you can't take commissions which requires that you explicitly go against the interests of the crown. It recognises you as the guildmaster, and as such, there might be a few more fiddly bits of paperwork, but –'

'Woah, wait, hold on a moment,' the lavender-haired mage said, shaking his head. 'Let me get this straight, you're giving me the right to form a mercenary army in Jehanna, a whole group of people who will need supplies, weapons, and payment – and this is supposed to help me?'

'Sure, there are a couple of downsides to it, but let me finish,' the mercenary leader said, gesturing for him to be at ease. 'By allowing you to form your own guild, you'll be able to travel relatively freely throughout the continent with a group of soldiers without being labelled as an invading army. Enough mercenaries come from Jehanna, nobody will bother to take notice of another bunch of sellswords. You won't attract any attention, and if you get into any bother with officials and the like, you can simply say that you're on a mission for the Jehannan crown, show them the license if they don't believe you.'

When Len still looked doubtful, King Joshua decided to speak. 'Look, Len,' he said patiently, 'I don't know how long your journey will last, but from the news I've been receiving, Magvel isn't getting much safer. Monsters are rising in number all over the continent, and while I don't know if this... dark force has anything to do with it, but believe me, you're not going to want to travel about with such little protection. Now, I'm not saying I don't have trust in your abilities, or in Saleh's – I've seen the power of his magic first-hand, and if you're studying under him, then I can guess how capable you are as well. But especially with this piece of news from Rausten, about this... Holy Crusade, then it's reckless to journey without proper precautions in place. I'm just trying to keep you safe.'

Len sighed and glanced over the license once again. His gaze lingered for a while over the words 'Len's Mercenaries' written in Gerik's untidy scrawl, and he wondered how things had come to be that his name was now in the title of a mercenary band. 'Then, I accept your offer, your Majesty, with a wholly grateful heart,' he said with a bow.

King Joshua let out a breath of relief as he clapped a hand on the mage's shoulder. 'I'm glad to hear it,' he said. 'Now, we'd better get all the extra paperwork out the way, and then we can see what we can offer you in terms of provisions. You may all lodge in the palace for as long as you wish – although I'd wager that you'd want to leave as soon as you can.'

'Yes, indeed,' Len affirmed. 'I think Master Saleh wishes to conclude this matter as quickly as possible.'

The sage nodded his agreement. 'The sooner we discover the true nature of this disturbance, the better,' he said in his quiet voice.

'By the way,' said the mage, looking at Gerik. 'It's all very well and good having a licence for a mercenary band – but who's going to be in it?'

'Well, I figured that your current little company would do very well,' the green-haired mercenary answered. 'They don't have to be on a long-term written contract, merely on a short-term agreement by word of mouth. I've also given Felix, Sandro and Marisa leave from their contracts to me so they can travel with you. It appears you made a bit of an impression on the pair of greenhorns over there.'

'It's nothing like that, Chief!' Felix protested indignantly. 'I'm just going cos you told me to. That's all, no other reason!'

'So it looks like we'll be calling you "Commander" after all, Commander,' Sandro said with a broad smile.

Len looked blank for a moment, and then burst into laughter. 'Well, looks like that indeed. Though I'll still have to get used to this whole Commander business, so just "Len" would still be preferable.'

'We will also travel with you, Master Len,' came Lucas' voice from behind him. 'I will try to be of help whenever I can.'

'No, your assistance would be invaluable, Master Lucas,' he replied.

'Just Lucas,' the bard replied, his smile betraying only a hint of impish amusement. 'After all, you're our Commander now. We're under your care.'

'It's been less than an hour since this whole mercenary thing came together and I'm already feeling uncomfortable with all this responsibility,' he said with a pained expression. 'Well, at least Marisa's not going to treat me any different..'

He paused as he realised that he didn't recall seeing Marisa in the room. 'Come to think of it, where is Marisa?'

Gerik exchanged uncomfortable looks with the king before he said, 'Well... Marisa didn't quite warm to the idea of being put on leave from her contract.'

Len gave an awkward expression. '...Ah. I can only imagine. What did she say?'

'She basically accused me of firing her and stormed off,' Gerik replied simply. 'Tethys is with her now, but I don't suggest approaching her any time soon.'

'Right. Great. I should get used to this if I'm going to be a mercenary leader, right?'

'Oh yeah. Totally. You get it all the time.'


End file.
